


The Forlorn

by cruisedirector, Dementordelta



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Acting, Alternate Universe - Actors, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Animals, Apologies, Astronomy, Awkward Blow Jobs, Awkward Dates, Bad Flirting, Baseball, Celebrities, Children, Churches & Cathedrals, Closeted Character, Coming Out, Confessions, Costumes, Custody Arrangements, Dinner, Distrust, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Happy Ending, Explicit Language, Falling In Love, Fame, Families of Choice, Fan Characters, Fucking, Gossip, Hiding, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Invasion of Privacy, Javert's Confused Boner, Kissing, Libraries, Lube, M/M, Masturbation, Moving In Together, Nuns, Oral Sex, Past, Pillow Talk, Politics, Prison, Publicity, Rumors, Secrets, Slurs, Social Media, Sports, Starting Over, Television, Twitter, Zoo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-14 02:31:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 58,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4546791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cruisedirector/pseuds/cruisedirector, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dementordelta/pseuds/Dementordelta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Valjean is hired to play the mayor on Javert's show, Javert must rethink everything he knows about the onetime prisoner's past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> We started writing this for fun and it kept hatching side plots. We neglected it for quite a while, so the ending may be a bit abrupt, but it's been in process for about two years. We were picturing Hugh Jackman and Russell Crowe in the main roles but you're welcome to visualize other actors. This is mostly unbetaed (though we thank esteven for feedback), so comments and corrections are welcome.

_Control_ , Javert reminded himself. _Don't live down to their expectations. You are better than that piece of shit Valjean._

But it was so hard not to lose his temper and denounce the piece of shit right there when Lafitte came in to announce that Jean Valjean was going to be elevated to a series regular. They wanted Valjean to play the fucking _mayor_. Even though his character had, ironically, started out as an escaped prisoner, and Javert knew stories about Valjean himself that would have made him much less popular with the women who were always fawning all over him, admiring his muscles and blabbing about how handsome he was.

Instead of speaking up, Javert locked himself in his trailer. It didn't matter that he had never complained to the producers no matter what stupid thing his character had been directed to do, never been late, never missed a fucking cue for fuck's sake. They didn't listen to him. Since the news had broken about his drug dealer dad dying in prison, the bosses couldn't see the difference between Javert and the character he played in their little melodrama: the son of a dealer and a whore who never went to college, who had made his living working security before a talent agent admired the way he scowled at her and asked him whether he'd ever thought about being an extra on TV.

Valjean had never gone to college either, but Javert couldn't explain how he knew about all the lies on Valjean's resume without having to talk about those months working as a prison guard, when he'd seriously thought that jumping in the river might be a better idea than continuing. Eventually he'd swallowed his pride, written a letter about everything that was wrong with the system, and quit, even though he didn't know how he'd pay the rent. He'd never had Valjean's talent for tricking people into thinking he was someone better than his birth and making money fall into his hands. Javert had worked his ass off on the one episode of _The Forlorn_ for which they'd brought him in, impressing the producers enough to bring him back for a few scenes here and there, until finally they decided they should have one cop who was a regular antagonist for all the characters in their small-town drama, feared by everybody. All the crap Method actors in the cast continued to treat him as an outcast, pretending they were doing it to stay in character.

A knock on Javert's door interrupted his train of thought. Probably one of the producers coming to explain, so Javert yanked the door open with some approximation of a neutral expression. He treated the producers with the respect their positions deserved even when they treated him like shit. But it was not a producer, it was that bastard Valjean, wearing the phony smile that had made everyone else in the cast fall in love with him instead of realizing what a poser he was. "Monsieur le maire," said Javert sarcastically.

"Inspector," Valjean greeted him with a courteous nod, taking Javert's irony for friendly teasing. "I need help. They just handed me twelve new pages and I don't know who half these characters are, let alone how Madeleine would behave toward them."

"Now that he's the mayor, I'm sure Madeleine would think he was too important for the little people," snapped Javert. "Why ask me?"

"Everyone says that you're the backbone of the show." Valjean gestured to the door, indicating the cast and crew beyond. "One of the writers told me that when he forgets a continuity detail, he calls you. Got time for a crash course? I'll buy lunch."

Javert was not impressed by Valjean's flattery, nor his offer, nor was he taken in by the bullshit friendliness Valjean exuded.

"They call me because they're too lazy or too stoned to keep track of their own damn stories," he snarled, knowing that even though Valjean got under his skin, he was still overreacting. "And because they know I pay attention," he admitted grudgingly.

"I've noticed," Valjean said, then somehow he was inside Javert's trailer and the door had shut behind him. What, what the fuck had he noticed? Valjean waved a sheaf of papers bound with clasps that were probably the new script pages he'd mentioned. "So, lunch?"

"You don't have to bribe me," Javert replied, turning away from Valjean, though there wasn't much space to go in the shitty little trailer.

"You have to eat, I have to eat, and I'd really like help," Valjean said as if he realized he'd won some sort of battle and was already signing victory treaties.

"We can eat right here," said Javert, though he'd meant to say _he_ , he could eat right here, and Valjean could go let one of the top-heavy too-young production assistants buy him lunch, or better yet, be lunch for him.

"I know a great Thai place that delivers," Valjean told him, pulling out his mobile phone.

Javert wanted to snarl that he didn't like Thai food, but he did, and he was hungry anyway and Valjean wasn't going away, not his blindingly white smile nor his perfectly fucking coiffed hair. It was only the thought that Valjean had spent an hour in make-up that morning getting moussed and snipped the same as Javert had and the rumble in his stomach that silenced his protest when Valjean tapped the number in.

"Tell me about Fantine," said Valjean when he'd finished ordering what sounded like enough for the entire cast. Javert wondered whether Valjean intended to go invite some of his fucking admirers once the food arrived. "I can't tell whether she doesn't trust me or that's just her character -- what's the deal, there, anyway? She got fired and it's supposed to be my fault?"

"Your character fired hers for something she didn't do, so she started turning tricks to make ends meet, and now she has AIDS," Javert reiterated crossly. He'd told anyone who would listen that the storyline sounded utterly contrived, but no one had thought the audience would notice. 

"She's pissed at me for something that happened on a day I wasn't even on the set," complained Valjean. "It's not like I can call the writers and say, 'Hey, guys, I don't think I'd have had this woman fired without asking her what happened.' And this --" He held up the papers. "-- the new scene, I stop you from arresting her and she tries to kiss me. I think Fantine thinks it's _my_ fault that got written."

"Of course it's your fault. They want some woman in love with you right away, to play up your supposed charm with the ladies."

Ignoring the implied doubt, Valjean grinned at him. "I thought it was to establish my character's heterosexuality, given his past in prison and all. That other guy, what's his name -- Batambois? -- seems to imply that he has his doubts about me, anyway."

Whatever Valjean was fishing for, whatever rumors he might have heard about Javert, Javert sure as hell wasn't going to confirm or deny them. "I'm sure you'll find a way to _charm_ Fantine soon enough," he muttered, trying not to glare and give Valjean any conclusions to draw.

Valjean shot an odd look Javert's way, but he was already moving on, flipping through the shooting pages. "Then there's all this business about the money, blah blah very successful blah blah blah, and then there's a new scene with some guy dying in the hospital -- wow, couldn't they have come up with a better excuse for two pages of me blabbing exposition? And I explain all this stuff about finding religion. It would be so much better if this were a flashback. Even if I wasn't in the scene, but if we saw the priest's face as my character would have seen it. They'll tell me to shut up if I suggest that, right?"

It was exactly what Javert had thought when he'd seen the new pages -- forgetting that they'd cut his part down to two damn scenes this week -- that the writers were planning to have Valjean put the audience to sleep describing his history, instead of cutting the gratuitous scenes with the hookers and showing where Valjean had come from. It might have had to do with the budget, but Javert suspected that the writers hadn't thought it through in sufficient detail to come up with the setting. "They'd tell you to go to hell," he warned, realizing as he said it that unlike anyone else on the lot from the P.A.s to the studio execs, Valjean never swore. Who said _wow_ instead of _fuck_? 

He was about to bring this up when there was a knock signifying either that the food had arrived or that Lafitte was finally coming to explain why they'd made such huge changes affecting Javert's character without a word of warning. He hoped it was the food.

It was. Valjean was handing the signed slip back to the delivery boy before Javert remembered he wasn't going to let him treat.

"Here, let me--" he began, but Valjean was waving him away, handing him a bag while he took two others. "Christ, how much did you order?" Javert gaped, nearly dropping the heavy bag before dragging it into the trailer kitchen.

Valjean had a bag in each hand, hefting them like dumbbells, setting them beside the one Javert had set on the counter. They barely fit together in the confined space, the trailer having been designed for convenience, not luxury. "What? I was hungry. And I haven't been able to have carbs in ages."

Despite not meaning to care or be curious, Javert found himself asking, "Why not?"

Pulling out napkins and plastic forks from the bag, Valjean made a muscle with one arm. "That part I did in _The League_. I had to be in shape." He laughed and dropped the arm in favor of pulling out plastic bins full of intriguingly arranged noodles. "Really cut."

Leave it to the blowhard to bring that up. It had been a small part, even though it was favorably received. "You didn't look especially fit in --" Javert began before realizing his mistake.

Valjean's eyes widened in delight. "You saw it?" He opened the pad thai, inhaling it before setting it back on the counter beside the steaming dish of satay. "It was a very small part," he said, obviously trying to look modest.

It had been a small part, but the critics, even the English critics, had noticed Valjean. It had probably led to Javert's current dilemma, having to put up with the insufferable asshole, because small parts often led to breakout roles in other projects, like the show that Javert held onto for dear life. Javert started fussing over the food, setting the containers haphazardly on the boxtop sized table, even getting down plates. "It was on TV," he said without looking up, which was the truth, though Javert had seen it in the theater first. "You didn't look that muscle-bound."

"That was the idea," Valjean said, following Javert with two more cardboard containers. "I wanted him to be sleek without looking bulky. Lots and lots of lean protein for months." He swung into one of the chairs, forking up a golden triangle of fried tofu and swallowing it. "Heaven." He'd ordered bottles of soda too, pushing one toward Javert before unscrewing the top from his own and taking a long pull.

Javert realized that he was staring -- fuck, practically drooling -- and turned his attention quickly to the golden triangles in the hope that Valjean would think it was the food, which did smell delicious. He'd never heard of this Siam House Thai place even though Valjean had said it was nearby and they'd delivered quickly; probably the rest of the cast ate there all the time and didn't bother to invite Javert to join them. "S'good," he agreed around a mouthful of tom kha gai. He wondered how Valjean could possibly put in the hours in the gym necessary to keep that body and eat like this -- probably Valjean spent all his spare hours working out, letting the men stare the same as the women.

"So I've found religion, and you don't like me." Javert nearly dropped his spoon before realizing that Valjean had gone back to talking about the fucking show. "Do you really know where I came from, or you just suspect? I can't tell from these pages."

"The writers haven't told me," muttered Javert. They'd been so busy falling all over themselves writing backstory for Valjean, they hadn't bothered to keep the actors whose characters were directly impacted by it in the loop. "But whether or not I have proof is irrelevant. I would treat you as a suspect from the moment you aroused my --" It would have sounded stupid to say _suspicions_ so soon after saying _suspect_ , so Javert paused, wiping his mouth, trying to think of another word. 

He paused for too fucking long. "Aroused your…?" asked Valjean, turning a much naughtier smile on him than his character would have permitted himself, holding up a particularly phallic-looking bit of crispy garlic pork.

"Aroused my curiosity," sputtered Javert, not at all happy about either how suggestive that phrase sounded or the way he blushed when he said it. Valjean pushed his tongue into his cheek. "My character would treat yours as if he might be a threat to --"

"Your character's just a little obsessed with me, isn't he?" Valjean sucked one of his own fingers clean for emphasis, making a popping noise as he pulled it out of his mouth. "I'm trying to figure out why he won't just let it go. Whatever I did, it was a long time ago and now I work hard and the town's thriving -- there's even supposedly less crime. You said that to me when we met. So what's with the following me around, watching me?" He pointed a noodle-laden fork at Javert. "I kind of suspect your character secretly has a thing for me."

"You _would_ think that," Javert snapped. "So much for the mayor's supposed humility."

"I meant me, not my character. Otherwise, what's your explanation for his obsession?"

Valjean was about to fork up the last of the golden triangles. "He's obsessed with the law, not with the mayor," Javert told him, blocking Valjean's fork with his own and spearing the fried tofu himself. 

"We could --" Valjean began, only to trail off, fork hanging empty between them as he stared into the distance. Javert was about to make a comment about not holding his attention when Valjean snapped back, his eyes alight with some internal mischief. "We could use that." Swallowing the purloined tofu, Javert only had time to look confused before Valjean elaborated. "I mean, I know the writers will never go for it, and neither will the producers, but we could do it." He made a back and forth gesture between them indicating both of them.

"Do what?" Javert asked, unhappy about missing whatever point had become so clear to Valjean.

"Subtext," declared Valjean. "These guys are oozing with it. Why not play that up?" He made an arching gesture with his fork. "We don't need dialog for that." He looked like he was going to do something obnoxiously manly like punch Javert in the shoulder.

"They are not _oozing_ with anything," Javert spat out, once he realized the awful direction Valjean's thoughts had taken. "They're adversaries. They hate each other. You're afraid of me!"

Valjean stabbed his fork into the noodles with each of Javert's objections. "See? Subtext. The fans go crazy for that stuff." He swallowed his laden bite, waggling his eyebrows once as his tongue flicked out to catch a bit of trailing noodle.

Barely refraining from rolling his eyes while he picked out the biggest piece of broccoli, Javert said, "I haven't been doing this long enough to have fans."

He had the satisfaction of making Valjean blink. "Yes you do. I'm one of them." Valjean said it so disarmingly that Javert looked up, certain he was being mocked. Valjean merely used the moment to transfer the broccoli to his own fork and pop it into his mouth.

"Insincere flattery won't change my mind," Javert growled, angry at himself for wanting to believe it.

Immediately Valjean changed tactics. "It'll be fun. We'll be in on it, the audience will be in on it and rooting for us -- if we do it right -- and the writers will think it was all their idea if the ratings jump."

It was impossible; it would never work. Why then was Javert considering it? He certainly did not want to insinuate subtext, or any other kind of text, with Valjean. "If I agree to this scheme of yours, what will it involve?"

Javert knew by the triumphant expression that Valjean assumed he had won, even though Javert hadn't actually agreed to anything. "Little things at first," he said, warming up to his own idea. "Standing closer, little glances, smiles. The fans will catch on and start tuning in each week just to see what we're up to."

"And the fact that we hate each other?" countered Javert.

For a moment Valjean looked as though Javert had kicked him. "Oh, you mean our characters?" he said and Javert started to correct him, but couldn't, not when the man looked so stricken. Acting or not, it was convincing and Javert's heart was cold but it wasn't inhuman. "That's just it, I've read the scripts and they are wary, distrustful, but they don't hate each other. That's why this will work."

"Until you get me fired for disobeying the producers," countered Javert, poking in the lad na to see whether there was more chicken hiding among the noodles. "You're trying to get me to make a jackass out of myself so you look better."

"Do you really believe I'd sabotage a show where I finally have a regular gig just to make a fool of you?" Valjean's voice was incredulous. 

"I think you'd do a lot to discredit me before I tell anyone where we met." Javert expected Valjean to flinch or to laugh and tell Javert to fuck off, but he kept his gaze level, waiting to see if Javert was actually planning to make an accusation. This was not the moment, Javert knew, not when everyone on the entire fucking set was in love with Valjean and when Valjean's character was considered indispensable. Particularly since Javert had no way of proving anything. "Fine," he barked. " _Monsieur Madeleine._ You play up your subtext -- I'll continue what I've been doing, since you've apparently found some way to interpret that as having a thing for you."

He thought Valjean would tell him to forget the whole thing, but Valjean instead grinned and opened the last container. It contained mango sticky rice. Javert could smell the coconut. "You're smoking hot when you glare like that," Valjean informed him, thrusting his fork into the container, spearing a piece of mango and holding it out to offer it to Javert as if they were lovers sharing dessert.

In fact Javert had never shared dessert with a lover like that, off the same fork, but Valjean didn't need to know that, and Javert wasn't going to refuse anything that smelled so good just because Valjean was being an ass, either. "I'm sure that's why they hired me," he said sardonically, taking the fruit from Valjean's fork, letting the sweet-tart taste spread through his mouth. He wasn't sure what to make of the color that crept into Valjean's cheeks, but he could feel that his own face was warm.

"They hired you because you're good at this. I'm sure you think they only hired me for the --" Flexing a well-defined bicep, Valjean thrust out his jaw and made a he-man face. "And you're probably right, but I work twice as hard as anyone else and I try to be a good guy no matter what they throw at me. Like the mayor -- I really have changed." A funny look came over his face. "You have rice on your chin."

"That's your fault," began Javert, reaching for a napkin to wipe it off and cover the blush that had not diminished from watching Valjean show off his muscles, but Valjean's hand intercepted him, brushing through the beard Javert had grown for the role. He was pretty sure he saw the rice detach itself and fall, but he was too busy looking at Valjean to see where it landed, and he cursed himself for the audible catch in his breath.

" _And_ they hired you because you're smoking hot when you glare like that," Valjean repeated, his voice gone faintly hoarse. If Valjean was acting, it was damn good acting. Javert tried to turn away but the movement brought his lips in contact with Valjean's fingers. It was Valjean's turn to breathe in sharply, as if Javert had done it on purpose, then Valjean brushed the fingers deliberately across Javert's mouth. 

It took all of his willpower not to turn the game back on Valjean and kiss his fingers, even suck one into his mouth. Valjean was so obviously a tease and expected the same sort of behavior from him. Javert knew that was all this was, this sudden flirting, the compliments -- a game. Then, perversely, he wanted to play Valjean's little game, turn the tables on him and show him his own skills at the fucking game. Probably stupid, but his lips caressed the pads of Valjean's fingers, just where they brushed across his mouth. This close he could see Valjean's eyes widen at the contact, too focused not to be deliberate. Was it his imagination or did Valjean's pupils darken in arousal?

He expected Valjean to start babbling again about subtext, about working this into a scene, but he just sat there, staring, presumably waiting for Javert to make the next move. "Did I get it?" Javert asked, not even having to make an effort to make his voice sound husky.

"Get it?" Valjean asked, swallowing as his gaze dipped to the press of fingers against Javert's lip.

"The rice," Javert said, shifting his lips just enough to let his tongue flick Valjean's thumb.

The man groaned, actually groaned. "Christ!" Valjean exclaimed, pulling his hand away as though a spark had touched it. "You're good." He gave his hand a shake, trying to disguise his reaction by fumbling for a fork. "Message received." He shook his head and said, "Christ," again.

"You're the one going on and on about subtext," Javert said, tamping down any urge to sympathize, particularly with someone who didn't even seem to think dirty words while Javert's brain was bursting with _fuck_ and _cunt_ and _cock-tease_. There was a bit of chicken in the bottom of one of the containers and he scooped it out, licking some of the sauce off, quite heedless of clinging bits of rice.

Valjean waved the fork he'd managed to subdue at him. "That wasn't a flash of a smile or standing just a fraction too close together in the long shots," Valjean said. "That was 'bend me over the table and fuck me' smoking hot."

Before Javert had managed to think of a single coherent response, and long before he trusted himself to speak aloud, Valjean had gotten to his feet. With a grin and a shake of his head, he stuck his fingers into the container and popped the last bit of mango into his mouth.

"Let me help you clean this up," he said as if they'd been talking about lunch the whole time.

"I didn't think you said words like 'fuck,'" Javert managed to utter. It might have been inane, but at least his voice didn't shake.

"Monsieur Madeleine doesn't," explained Valjean. "I mean, ever, even in his head, so I'm trying to get out of the habit." He blushed a bit. "Actually, I'm trying to get out of the habit anyway, and live a clean, upstanding life. But I lose my cool more easily than Madeleine. Anyway, I'm surprised that _you_ say words like 'fuck' -- I thought you were too controlled for that." 

"It's not illegal," grunted Javert. He wasn't about to explain that he was chanting _fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck_ in his head right then while willing his prick to go down. "I think it more than I say it."

"Me too, but I'm trying to stop." Valjean was still grinning as he added, "Generally I don't ask people to bend me over the table on a first date, either." Turning, he found the paper towels and started wiping up the table. It would have been polite for Javert to help, but Javert didn't dare stand lest his hard-on be immediately obvious despite his clothes. Instead he collected the empty containers, separating the recyclables from the garbage. No one else on the cast could be bothered to follow that one simple request from the janitorial staff, though half the actors claimed in interviews to be environmental warriors and animal rights activists.

"If they don't rearrange the schedule again, we have that big argument scene on Friday with my desk between us." Valjean winked at him. "I think it will make for perfect subtext if we're both thinking about bending over tables when we shoot it. We can go over it at lunch tomorrow."

"You're crazy," Javert told him. Valjean only laughed, opening the door, stepping outside holding bags full of trash before it occurred to Javert to add that this hadn't been a date. He rose and started to follow.

"Jean!" It was Christine, one of the actresses who played one of the hookers. "I was looking for you. Are we on for dinner tomorrow?"

Javert didn't need to listen to this. He started to step back inside but the noise made Valjean glance around. He mouthed something silently, but Javert hadn't worked out what it was before Valjean had turned once more to Christine. "Sorry, but I have plans with Javert," he said, the lie falling with perfect conviction from his lips.

"Oh." She pouted flirtatiously, gave a little wave, then narrowed her eyes a bit at Javert before sashaying off to the trailer that the women playing hookers shared.

When Valjean looked back at him, he was smiling. _Thanks_ , he mouthed.

Javert had run out of patience for this game. He was due in makeup and undoubtedly there would be more new pages before the end of the day. "Don't overplay the part, Valjean," he sneered.


	2. Chapter 2

"Where in hell did that come from?"

It took Javert a moment to snap out of character and come back to himself, so involved had he been in the scene. Complete silence followed the PA's outburst, then abruptly he heard scattered applause from around the set.

"That was fucking brilliant. Great work, Javert. The rest of you, we need more of that." The director's lecture went on, but Javert scarcely heard it. His head was still full of Javert's passion -- enraged passion, that was what he meant, _rage_ \-- and Valjean was grinning at him from where Javert had him cornered, pretending to wipe sweat from his forehead.

"I couldn't tell whether you were going to hit me or kiss me," Valjean whispered as the boom operator backed off.

 _Or bend you over the desk_ , Javert added silently to himself. But he hadn't been thinking it while he was shouting at Valjean -- at _Madeleine_ \-- so passionately that spit had flecked his lips.

"Don't flatter yourself," he growled as Valjean patted his mouth down with a handkerchief, "that was acting." He flicked his gaze over Valjean. "You should try it sometime."

Valjean just rolled his eyes. "You're adorable when you put on that gruff big daddy act. Makes me want to --"

But whatever it was that Valjean was about to say was interrupted by the PA, Marie, coming over with some crumpled script pages she was using to fan herself. "Good work, guys, really good, only Marc --" That was the director, at whom she gestured. "-- wants me to tell you we're going to back it down a notch for the next scene." Her eyes twinkled a bit as she leaned in. "He probably doesn't want the lenses to melt if you do that again," she confided. She looked like she was carrying a delicious secret she wasn't ready to share, and oddly enough when she gave the usual feminine glance of appreciation that Valjean got wherever he went, Javert got the same look, almost a wink.

"Even the ladies want you, big daddy," Valjean said, tucking the handkerchief into his pocket.

"Don't call me that," hissed Javert, straightening his costume uniform coat to the Inspector's rigid standards of correctness.

"Not denying the rumors, are you?" Valjean said, nabbing a bottle of water from a passing assistant, offering it to Javert before grabbing another.

"You shouldn't listen to gossip," Javert said, unscrewing the water bottle top before realizing he should have said thank you or something polite, but he was still shaking off his character's passion -- passionate scene -- and Valjean, as always, was making it much more difficult to think.

Valjean's chuckle made him look over. "So you have heard the rumors about you," he said, rubbing the cool plastic bottle against his face. He had a bit of dark beard shadow already that the makeup never managed to hide fully.

Javert took a deep breath. "Which rumors? That I beat up three reporters at the upfronts or that I have a twelve inch cock?" He took a long pull from his bottle, delighted that he nearly made Valjean spew water all over the set.

"I only heard ten," Valjean said when he had managed to swallow. "From Lafitte. Is he in a position to know?"

"If you mean bent over a table, the answer is no," retorted Javert. "Is that how you got him to make you a regular?"

As the words shot out of his mouth, Javert thought he'd gone too far -- that wasn't just nasty, it was an insult to Valjean's acting ability -- but Valjean only widened his eyes. "It isn't just Javert. You really don't like me." Javert was trying to come up with a retraction that was not quite an apology, considering that Valjean had just been calling him _big daddy_ , when Valjean added, "Or else you do like me, and you're fighting it."

"Thank you, Dr. Freud, you've figured me out," Javert snapped at him slightly too loudly. The set dressers had swooped in to move around the papers on Madeleine's desk for the next scene, which took place two days later but was going to be filmed as soon as the lighting had been adjusted since it used the same set. Curious glances turned in Javert's direction.

"At least we know it isn't penis envy," Valjean replied loudly enough to be overheard, and the entire set dissolved into laughter. Javert wondered whether in fact someone from the costume department had said something to Lafitte about having to let out Javert's inseam. The costume girls were notorious gossips, though the two men in the department, who had once been a couple, didn't much like actors, whom they felt treated the costumes too cavalierly. They did like Valjean -- everybody liked Valjean -- and had not been shy about discussing in front of Javert how his trousers flattered his ass.

The makeup crew descended, darkening a fake scar on Javert's forehead and emphasizing the circles under his eyes -- it was supposed to be late at night, his character was supposed to be tired. He could see Sidonie spraying fake sweat onto Valjean's forehead. "You're coming to the softball game, yes?" she asked him in a voice that suggested she already knew the answer, and had plans for him that did not involve softball.

"Course I am. It's for the Make-a-Wish fund, right?" Javert was wondering whether Valjean cared at all about terminally ill children or just thought a charity softball game was something his character would do when Valjean raised his voice again. "Javert doesn't know it yet but I'm bringing him with me."

 _Fuck._ "No, you're not," said Javert irritably. The producers undoubtedly wanted him there for the publicity, but he did not intend to spend his day off baking in the sun with this group of people. Still, he couldn't exactly say he didn't want to help dying children; not even his character was that cruel. 

"I'll drive. Be good for the show. We can pretend to be best friends off-camera. And you can keep an eye on me, make sure I don't embarrass myself." There were hands blocking half of Valjean's face and still Javert could see his smile.

Sidonie shot an unreadable glance at Javert. "Don't forget sunblock," she told Valjean coolly. "Madeleine avoids being seen in direct light. You shouldn't get a tan."

"No danger of that," Valjean said, "I'm as pale as a fish's belly." He gave his hips a waggle, leaving no doubt as to which part of his anatomy he was referring. "I had to do a spray tan for _The League_ \-- you know that one scene --" He flushed a bit but went on, assuming that Javert did indeed know the scene. "My cock looked like an orange popsicle for a week." He followed this with a mock shudder.

Even with that image Javert felt his mouth water as if hearing Valjean say _cock_ had triggered some primitive hunger response. He tried to think of Valjean covered in lurid off-color paint, but it didn't help with the sudden tightness in his groin. "I'm sure that didn't put a crimp in your love life," Javert huffed.

"What love life? You know what the schedule's like -- up before dawn, in bed before the sun goes down." Valjean made a resigned gesture with his fingers. "The best I can hope for is a date to a charity softball game."

They were called to places again before Javert could sputter his denials that it wasn't a fucking date, before he remembered that he wasn't even going.

He meant to go off by himself and sulk during the break for lunch, but that damned Valjean had a question about the afternoon's scenes and followed him to the commissary, where he discussed the current plotline all through the meal.

Pointing a fork at Javert, he said, "What I don't understand is why the Inspector has such loathing for the mayor -- there must be more to it than their past."

"It's more complicated than loathing," Javert said, reluctantly interested in the subject since the crew, at least, had apparently appreciated his performance that morning. "And it's not subtext," he added in the face of Valjean's immediate knowing grin. 

"What, then?" asked Valjean, taking an artful swallow of his iced tea as if he were being filmed for a commercial.

"You know the Inspector thinks you're an escaped crook, he just can't prove it yet. But he will prove it, just as soon as Madeleine slips up. So he doesn't want to find anything about Madeleine admirable. He doesn't compartmentalize. You might say, all right, Madeleine's a thief and a liar but he's also the reason the unemployment rate is so low and there's a decent after-school program for the kids. The Inspector would never believe that Madeleine does anything except for selfish reasons that damage the rest of society."

"Seems one-dimensional," Valjean said, licking a bit of yogurt from the corner of his mouth. Javert tried not to let his eyes follow Valjean's tongue. "Does he even have a first name? I haven't heard anyone call him anything but 'Inspector' -- that's even what he's called in the script."

"I've had conversations with the writers about that," said Javert, stabbing at a bite of lean chicken. His trainer had yelled at him after all the fatty Thai food, insisting that he live on lean protein and water for the rest of the week. Putting a character with no first name on his resume would suggest that he had played a background character, not one of the series leads. "They haven't thought of one yet."

"You must have a name for him." Valjean did not appear to be mocking him. "You do too much preparation not at least to have decided what his mother called him --"

"He wouldn't use a name his mother called him. He was born inside a jail, with scum like Madeleine." Though Javert hadn't meant to explain so much, he blurted out the words while distracted watching Valjean lick the yogurt off his spoon. "It's in the series bible, if you'd read it," he added defensively.

Nodding, Valjean pushed his plastic cup full of strawberries and grapes toward Javert. Despite the limited-carb rule imposed by his trainer, Javert took a couple of grapes, popping them into his mouth as Valjean said, "I did read it, but there are no details. Was his mother in jail for being a fraud fortune-teller or because she'd stolen something? How did she get pregnant by a lifer? Did she even want a kid? I thought you might have come up with more answers than the writers." Strawberry juice ran down his chin when he bit into a berry, and Javert had to force himself to study the tabletop instead of Valjean's tongue and fingers as he wiped it up. "What do you call the Inspector in your head?"

"That's none of Madeleine's business," sniffed Javert, then, for some reason he could not explain, added, "I call him Eugène."

"Eugène?" Javert couldn't tell whether Valjean's voice was meant to be incredulous or taunting. "Where did you come up with that?"

"If you'd done any homework, you'd have realized that both our characters are based on the same criminal-turned-investigator," huffed Javert, feeling his face turn scarlet. "It was his first name. Eugène François Vidocq."

"Give me a break on the homework. I haven't been here as long as you." To demonstrate that there were no hard feelings, Valjean grinned. "So we're two sides of the same coin? Or two halves of the same man?" He linked his fingers together in a gesture that was probably meant to show two parts becoming one, yet managed instead to look suggestive.

"JVJ!" Valjean's head swiveled. It was Palomer from the costume shop. "I heard you talked this guy into doing the softball game. We found uniforms some other cast wore for some event or other. Lafitte wants everyone dressed to match in case the game gets on the news or YouTube -- free publicity. Both of you come by before you leave, so we can see what fits."

Before that evening, they had never actually been in wardrobe at the same time. Javert's costumes had rarely varied from the established uniforms he had worn since the first season. He had yet to appear in street clothes in an episode. By contrast, he didn't think he'd seen Valjean in the same outfit twice. Valjean often got getting called in for extra fitting sessions -- ones for which that wardrobe staff all seemed to be on duty.

This late afternoon it was just himself and Valjean, plus Palomer who rummaged through a rack jammed full of costumes before making a noise of disgust. "Some imbecile must have sent the uniforms to the laundry. Hang on boys, I'll be right back." She smiled at them both. "You can keep your pants on -- if you like."

Javert glared at her, nearly asking if they could just come back later when the errant costumes were found, but when he looked at Valjean for support, Valjean had sidled over to the one of the racks for the costume drama that shot in the next sound stage.

"We should just show up in these," Valjean said, pulling out a soldier's uniform that looked like it must be for scenes featuring the Revolution.

Trust the man to want to make a noticeable impression in case the gossip press was on hand. "Be hard to pitch in that," Javert growled.

"I don't always want to pitch," retorted Valjean with a delighted smirk. "I like catching just as much." He made a lewd face.

Javert pretended not to know what he was talking about as Valjean settled the wide brimmed soldier's hat on his head and continued his forbidden foray into the depths of the costume rack. "Wow, get a load of this," he said, pulling out a nobleman's costume from the same era as the uniform.

It was blue silk or at least a silky fabric with darker blue embroidery. It was in two pieces, a fancy jacket and knee pants. He held up against Javert's front and tilted his head back and forth. Javert expected Valjean to make some remark about how it made Javert look like a ponce, but instead he said, "Same color as your eyes. You should see if they can't get you a uniform in this color."

"I'm sure the police would change its color code for you," Javert said with less bite than he'd meant to inject, uneasy beneath the intensity of Valjean's gaze.

But then Valjean shook it off, turning to paw through the costumes again, knocking his purloined hat askew. He caught it just in time, settling it back on the rack. "Maybe they could write a scene where the mayor flees in a dress." He held up a costume from a decidedly different era, a sequined white mini-dress. "I've got fantastic legs, might as well show them off." He winked at Javert, sashaying with the dress pressed to his chest.

Javert crossed his arms over his chest. "You'd have to shave your legs," he pointed out, pointedly not admiring the dress.

"How do you know I don't already?" Valjean replied, jamming the dress back on the rack.

"Anyone with as much hair as you've got elsewhere doesn't waste time on his legs."

"Why, Inspector," Valjean said, turning, his voice slipping into a wispy simper. "Thanks for noticing." He mimed waving a coquettish fan over his face, fluttering his lashes as he walked as if on a runway back into close proximity. "I hope you like hairy..."

At that moment Palomer returned with her arms full of uniform pieces, though she nearly turned around again when she saw them standing so close together. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" she asked with a knowing grin, pretending to cover her eyes with one hand and peering between the fingers.

"No," Javert barked loudly, which only made her grin more.

To his surprise, Valjean reddened a bit. "We were rehearsing," Valjean lied easily. "You follow the show, right? Why do you think the Inspector resents Madeleine so much?"

"Is 'resent' the word for it?" Palomer shot back, grinning. "I thought he was stalking him. Try these on -- I hope you both have cups that fit." With a wink, she left the uniforms on one of the tables beside an industrial sewing machine. "Don't take them off till I get back with the caps -- I can do some quick pinning if something needs to be taken in."

The moment she was out of the room, Valjean started stripping off. Though he was still fuming from the implication about the Inspector's interest in Madeleine, Javert realized that it would look even more strange if he refused to undress in front of the other man and began to do the same. He hoped he wasn't about to be subjected to more comments about the size of his cock.

"Baseball's not really my sport," Valjean said. "I can hit pretty hard but they go foul, or I strike out, and I'm terrible in the field."

"You're built more like a football player," Javert told him, struggling into a jersey that was tight around the arms. 

"So are you." Javert glanced up in time to see an appraising glance that made him duck his head and go back to fussing with the uniform. "I played some football in high school -- club stuff, I wasn't good enough to make the team. Then I had to get a job, since we had no money, and I had to stop playing." Valjean paused to look at himself in a mirror. "I wasn't really comfortable in locker rooms anyway. No one appreciates football players who sing show tunes."

How typical that Valjean would show off like that. "I didn't play football," Javert informed him. He hadn't grown up with a father around to teach him to throw a spiral or toss a baseball, though he had been forced to learn the basics of the latter for a couple of competitions between groups of co-workers like this one. "Since you got me into this, you should tell whoever's in charge that I would make a better umpire than player."

"You can stand in right field and look good for the cameras -- that's all this is about, anyway." Grinning, Valjean looked Javert over. "Those breeches look good on you."

"I didn't think baseball players still wore these," muttered Javert, who had not in fact paid any attention to what professional athletes wore on the field.

"Depends on the team and sometimes the player. Don't you like sports? Or do you have other vices?"

"Show tunes," replied Javert expressionlessly as Palomer returned with the caps, nodding in approval at them both.

After few tugs at his sleeves and a promise of modifications later, they were dismissed. "I was thinking of hitting the gym," Valjean announced. The studio had two -- one for crew and most of the actors, a much nicer one for senior studio staff and actors playing major roles -- but Javert avoided the former in favor of his neighborhood gym, where he was far more anonymous. He had never even inquired about the possibility of getting a key card for the executive gym and no one had ever offered. "Want to come?"

Javert opened his mouth to explain that he had a trainer and besides he had no interest in watching Valjean show off for whoever might be in the gym. Somehow what came out of his mouth was, "You'd have to sign me in."

"That's ridiculous -- you've been on longer than I have. I'm going to tell Lafitte to give you a gym card so we can work out together." And though Javert could not explain to himself what he was doing there, Valjean was as good as his word, stopping the underdressed Lafitte to demand that Javert be given credentials. Javert felt faintly ridiculous and inexplicably angry that Valjean, who was not the son of a criminal but a criminal himself, could march in like he owned the place and shape the world to his liking.

Exercise took the edge off his anger, so that when they were done spotting one another on the free weights, he was hungry again. Somehow it was not a surprise when Valjean suggested dinner.

"I should go home," Javert demurred. He'd put up with enough of Valjean for one day.

"You have to eat. Come on, there's a Greek place three blocks over that's not all industry people." 

He was about halfway through the meal before the reluctant realization settled around him that he was enjoying himself. Or at least he wasn't feeling openly hostile toward Valjean. He wasn't disputing, on principle, everything Valjean brought up. He even heard himself replying in a normal tone, far removed from the growl he usually used around Valjean. Worse, he wasn't thinking of Valjean as an idiot. Okay, maybe only half an idiot, with his flashing smile and that crinkle around his eyes when he laughed.

They talked about everything but the show, beginning with baseball and winding up on politics. Valjean's opinions meshed well with his own, though they disagreed several times, arguing back and forth over moussaka. Valjean focused all of his attention on Javert from the most innocent glance to the most openly flirtatious look.

Javert tried to think of something surly to say, but he'd already agreed with what Valjean was saying about gun control and he would be the one to look like an idiot if he changed his position now.

"I see what you're doing, you know," he said, pointing an accusing fork at Valjean.

"Stealing the last bite of pita?" Valjean acknowledged as though Javert hadn't just interrupted him.

"Being charming," Javert said, making it an accusation. "Trying to charm me." He pointed the fork back at himself.

"Is it working?" Valjean asked, leaning forward as if Javert was about to impart some great wisdom.

"No," he lied, "And it won't, because I see what you're doing." He saw Valjean glance at his wine glass as if alcohol might be the culprit in Javert's outburst.

Nodding, Valjean said, "And I see what you're doing. Being a challenge to my charms." His eyes did that crinkling thing. "Really, you have no idea how sexy you are when you're finding me irresistible."

Javert sputtered in not even remotely feigned outrage. "I find you --" He hadn't realized Valjean had moved so close to him, close enough to, well, not kiss, but the even the suggestion was better than any kiss Javert had ever received.

"You did find me," Valjean murmured.

"No, you found _me_." Javert was about to launch into a list of how many times before now Valjean had done precisely that -- turning up on his show, buying him lunch, dragging him to cast gatherings, ensuring that they would be playing ball and working out together -- when it occurred to him that not once had he successfully extricated himself. He would look like either an idiot or a prude if he pretended not to understand Valjean's implication. "What is it that you want, Valjean? For me to pretend that I can forget where we met before?"

The words had their intended effect, since Valjean dropped his eyes and shifted back. Javert tried to ignore the gnawing disappointment this caused. "You don't seem to be the sort who forgets anything," murmured Valjean. "And I wouldn't ask you to. I don't pretend that's not my past. What do you think dredging it up would accomplish?"

"Do you think it's fair that you make ten times as much money as all the perfectly honest people working crew?" Javert demanded. The words might have been cruel, but the question had been rankling in his thoughts for weeks.

For a moment he thought he'd actually made Valjean angry enough to lose his temper, but then Valjean shook his head once and only looked sad. "Of course it's not fair. The world isn't fair. It's not fair that my parents both died when I was a teenager, and my sister got stuck raising me, and her husband ran out on her, and she couldn't afford to feed her own kids. It's not fair that it's easier for a kid where I came from to make money dealing drugs than to get a job flipping burgers. I was mad at everyone for a long time and I made a lot of stupid choices. I can't undo them. You think I should tell everyone everything? They'd fire me, and then how would I take care of my niece? I'd lose custody of her and who knows where she would end up."

Valjean's niece was not Javert's concern, but he was uncomfortably aware of what happened to girls who wound up in the foster care system -- his own mother had been one of those. Instead he broke off a piece of baklava, putting it into his mouth, though he knew he'd been eating too many sweets. After a moment Valjean followed suit. They sat in silence for a few minutes, chewing the sticky dessert and sipping tea.

"I should let you get home," Valjean said finally, licking honey from his fingers. Javert glanced up at him, not wanting to admit even to himself the disappointment he felt at these words, though he had been telling himself for more than an hour that he should do just that. "May I ask you something? Why haven't you told anyone what you know about me?"

Glancing at the table, Javert considered his answer. At first it had been pragmatic -- he had no proof, he hadn't expected to be believed -- and he had been equally aware that he would be blamed for the bad publicity as much as Valjean, that the producers might not thank him but label him a troublemaker and limit his own role. Now he had to admit that he would be sorry if Valjean were to leave the show. It would mean the end of the longer scenes that his character was suddenly being summoned to do. And he relished the dynamic, the anger he got to express on film, plus the intense undercurrent Valjean called subtext that Javert would never have allowed himself to explore were it not for the cameras on them.

"It would remind them that I am from the gutter too," he said gruffly.

"No longer." Again Valjean gave him a sad smile. "You've changed, too, Javert." Pausing, Valjean mouthed the name again. "Javert. You must have a first name."

Javert's father had insisted that he be named for his favorite author, though Javert suspected that his father had never read such long books but only seen movies based on them. Clearly whoever his father's influences had been had only led his father to ruin. "I don't like my name," he growled. "No one uses it."

The wink Valjean gave him looked once again like the flirtatious behavior of the man who pranced around the set charming everyone. "I've seen it. It's on your papers, _Victor_." Javert flinched. "I'm not calling you 'Javert' if you're going to call me 'Jean' and it's about time you did, don't you think? Unless we're going to start calling each other 'JVJ and 'JV' like the crew call us behind our backs."

"Men like me can never change." The shake of Valjean's head conveyed exasperation more than agreement. Javert followed him, getting to his feet and dropping a couple of dollars on the table for the woman who came quickly to collect their plates. Valjean's tips were as oversized as everything else about him. 

For a moment, standing on the sidewalk outside the restaurant, Javert thought that Valjean might issue another invitation or at least voice the suggestion that the evening did not need to end there. But though Valjean had squeezed his arm, Valjean only thanked him, which was ridiculous since dinner and the gym had both been Valjean's idea. There was nothing that Javert could say besides a gruff, "Goodnight, Valjean."

Despite the food and the exercise and the talk, Valjean's "Goodnight, Inspector," left Javert feeling entirely unsatisfied.


	3. Chapter 3

It was his own fault, Javert mused. He'd taken a perfectly innocent, ordinary dinner and made it about accusations and unpleasant memories for them both, things better left unspoken until he had either amassed enough evidence against Valjean to turn over to the producers or been persuaded that justice already had been served. At least the past was out in the open, though Javert felt no triumph in it. He'd been having a good time for a few minutes there, at least until he'd ruined it. He felt unsettled, but not, he told himself, sorry. 

The restlessness followed him back to his flat, so that despite just having finished dinner, he opened the fridge and peered in, not hungry but needing...something. Since it obviously couldn't be found inside a refrigerator, he prowled the flat instead. Catching sight of the script for the next episode, he snatched up the pages and paced, visualizing the set and his marks, straightening his shoulders automatically as the Inspector would do. The lines were good -- the scenes with Valjean would be challenging to them both, but after today he knew they could make them really count. He knew most of his own lines, but ran them again, out loud, trying several different approaches to find what worked best for each scene. Of course a lot would depend on how Valjean responded, but he knew, in this at least, the man's instincts were sound. Then, just to be perverse, he tried acting out Valjean's lines instead, trying to picture himself as the much-put-upon mayor confronting the Inspector.

_Demented._ Javert sank into his armchair, still clutching the script. He must be demented to be so restless and unsatisfied. He was tired, but knew sleep would elude him. He studied the pages in his hand, reading over the notes he'd made in his precise, uncluttered handwriting. What had he gained from reminding Valjean about their past? What good would it do either of them to resurrect their former selves?

And why did Valjean affect him this way? Javert had worked with other actors he didn't like -- fuck, Javert didn't like most people, regardless of their professions. He set the script pages aside, resting his hand on his thigh, suddenly aware of what he was restless for, almost giving a guilty start. Of course he lived alone, and of course no one would ever know, it was just that he usually saved such urges for the shower, or in extreme cases, safely under bed covers. Tentatively, he rubbed the bulge in his trousers, inhaling at the relief he felt at that merest touch. He wouldn't have to think of Valjean at all, not when he was so ready....

Only he _was_ thinking of Valjean, of the long legs and the broad shoulders and that smile, the one he'd been using on Javert all day. The zipper flew down and Javert thrust his fingers into the fly, stretching out and getting comfortable in the chair as he stroked his prick through his underwear. Fuck that felt good. Yes, this was exactly what he needed to settle his restlessness. He had never needed a partner for this, not this instinctive urge. On the heels of that thought, however, came the image of a smiling mouth, wavy dark hair, laughing eyes that warmed when they rested on Javert.

His prick was in his hand before he realized he'd taken it out, rubbing a thumb over the head. The sensation was so good, he let other images seep in...of Valjean in the ridiculous soldier's hat, of Valjean licking the sticky baklava syrup off his fingers, of Valjean, oh fuck, going down on him, with Javert's prick molding the inside of his cheek as he sucked, sliding his fingers around Javert's balls and squeezing, yes, just like that, just the way he liked it. Valjean would really get into it, Javert thought, eyes fluttering shut in pleasure. He would finger Javert's ass, yes, fuck, like that, maybe even -- Javert groaned, thinking of Valjean's tongue sliding behind his balls, licking and tonguing him. And it would be good, so good, so good he would never want to stop, would beg Valjean to do these things to him, to make him come --

"Fuck!" he cried out, practically rocketing off the armchair as sensation grayed out his thoughts. Thoughts of, Jesus Christ, he hadn't really been thinking of Valjean the entire time, had he? His spent prick twitched just enough to confirm what Javert's brain was already skittering away from. He told himself that he must be more tired than he'd thought, it had been a long day, plus he'd worked out especially hard to impress Valjean, no that wasn't it, to intimidate Valjean, who had insinuated himself into every aspect of Javert's afternoon and evening. It was Valjean's own fault if Javert hadn't been able to banish his image doing...that. 

With a groan he flung himself out of the chair, wiping his fingers on his shirt, which he'd already managed to stain. Fuck -- he hadn't come that hard in a long time. Well, he wasn't going to think about that now. With determination, he strode to the bathroom, washed himself off, dumped his clothes in the hamper, tugged on a pair of boxers, and threw himself into bed. This had to stop. Tomorrow he was going to stop letting Valjean charm him the way Valjean charmed everyone else and pay strict attention to the man's behavior. If he was trying to distract Javert because he was up to something, Javert would find out about it and do whatever was necessary, even if the producers accused Javert of being crazy.

Unsurprisingly, he did not sleep well, half his dreams filled with a Valjean who alternately tried to seduce him and merely to lie beside him in the dark, stroking his hair, murmuring endearments. The other half were filled with images from Javert's time as a prison guard that he desperately wanted to forget.

An insistent noise woke Javert on Saturday morning before the sky was fully light. He cursed -- in his distraction he'd forgotten that it was the weekend, he didn't have to set an alarm -- then he realized that he was hearing not his clock, but his cell phone. Stabbing at the screen, he managed to answer the unfamiliar number. "What?"

"I have to pass you on the way to the field, so I thought I'd see if you wanted a ride," said an all-too-familiar voice.

Inwardly Javert recited a litany of foul words. He was not awake enough to reply in a civil manner. "How do you know where I live? And where did you get my number?" he demanded.

"It's on the crew list," Valjean replied cheerfully. "We can arrive together, do some posturing for the crowd, stay in character."

"It's supposed to be our day off," groaned Javert. "Do you know what time it is? Go back to bed."

"I'm in bed." Instantly Javert was awake, his inward curses now directed at himself for how quickly his cock responded to that bit of information. "I was lying here reading the script, and I thought, I'll call old Victor and see whether he --"

"Don't call me that." Holy hell, Javert's cock liked hearing Valjean say his name, too. 

"-- so I'll pick you up at 11?" Valjean had kept talking as if Javert hadn't spoken. "I'll bring you a protein bar if you'll loan me a water bottle. I think my niece took mine."

Even the words _protein bar_ were putting perverse thoughts into Javert's head. God damn it, what had happened to his self-control? In a few hours, he was going to have to share a locker room with this man and several other people with whom they both worked -- probably they'd have to help each other struggle into ill-fitting uniforms no matter what magic the costume department had promised. "I'll bring you a water bottle, but I should meet you there," Javert said. "I need to stop at --" Now he was drawing a complete blank. Obviously he wasn't going grocery shopping before spending several hours away from home, and he didn't need socks because he was going to have to wear the stupid long baseball stirrups that went with the uniform. "-- the library," he finished lamely.

"Perfect. I'm bringing my niece, she loves libraries." Before Javert had finished sputtering at this latest intrusion, Valjean added, "See you at a quarter to 11," and hung up with, "Bye."

God damn it. Now he was wide awake, and flustered, and hard. Did he have time to -- _damn it_ , he was not going to jack off over Valjean. Again. Instead he was going to take a shower and try to figure out why in fuck he might need to go to the library. Books on theater? He'd look as pretentious as Valjean, pretending to be a Method actor when he was making it up as he went. Cookbooks? No, Valjean might think he had a domestic streak. True crime? That might work, whether Valjean thought Javert was trying to get into character or took it as a warning.

Maybe Valjean was in the shower too, rubbing soapy hands under his arms and over his belly. Maybe last night Valjean had also...no, Javert was not going to think about how Valjean would look soaping up his half-hard cock and rubbing his -- fuck. Javert reminded himself that not only did Valjean have a criminal past, but Javert didn't even like the man.

Besides, Valjean was bringing his niece, so there was no point in imagining that instead of the library, Valjean intended to take Javert down some isolated street in the canyon and give him a better blow job than any Javert had ever imagined.

He'd expected to be picked up in some flashy convertible or something low-slung and red, so he nearly missed the black sedan that pulled up by the curb. The passenger door opened and a girl of about twelve waved at him.

"You're right, Papa, he's more handsome in person," Javert heard her say as she wiggled into the back seat, leaving the car door open.

Javert peered in and saw Valjean behind the wheel. Valjean waved too, lowering his sunglasses onto his nose and pointing to the girl in the back seat. "Cosette, this is Mr. Javert; Victor, my niece Cosette."

"I can ride in the back," Javert protested, but Valjean was beckoning, so he tossed his backpack in, then slid into the front seat.

"Seat belt," Valjean growled, eyeing the girl in the rear view mirror before pulling away from the curb.

"I know," she said in an exasperated tone to the sound of buckling in the back seat.

"She's fine," Valjean said, giving her a smile in the mirror that would have melted the panties off the script intern who had been ogling Valjean yesterday. His niece was not so impressed. She was already putting ear buds in. "Not too loud," he said, again into the mirror overhead before glancing at Javert in a 'what are you going to do?' way. "How did you sleep?" he asked, focusing back on the traffic.

For some reason Javert felt his cheeks warming, though what he had done last night had nothing to do with sleeping. "Fine," he grunted.

"That well, huh?" Valjean said. "Maybe that will help." He pointed to the car's cup-holders where two lidded containers rested. "I just got regular coffee," he explained. "Nothing whipped or foamy."

It was thoughtful, especially given the hour, but Javert was still trying to redeem his ego after his weakness last night. He was on the verge of refusing when Cosette popped her head over the car seat and dropped a plastic bag between them. "Here, Papa," she said, "I forgot the sugar and cream."

"Seat belt!" bellowed Valjean. She disappeared with a giggle and buckled back in.

The lure of the coffee smell was too much and Javert popped the lid off the one closest to him, rooted around in the bag for cream and sweetener, and poured both in. "Thank you," he said reluctantly after a bracing sip. After a moment he picked up the second cup and offered it to Valjean.

"Thanks," he said, peeling away the plastic tab and practically inhaling it. They drank in silence while Valjean negotiated the traffic. It took another moment before Javert recognized the sounds leaking out of Cosette's ear buds.

"Show tunes?" he said, unwittingly feeling the corners of his mouth twitch.

Valjean grinned. "Show tunes."

Javert cast a glance at the back seat. Cosette was looking out the window, apparently paying no attention to the two of them. "She calls you 'Papa'?" he asked Valjean in a low voice.

"I'm the only family she has," replied Valjean in a tight voice. "She's lived with me since --" He too glanced at Cosette in the rear-view mirror. "Since I've been out. The people my sister left her with deserve to drown in their own shit."

The phrase was so uncharacteristic of Valjean that Javert turned to look at him. Before, he had only seen Valjean truly angry when he was in character; Valjean tended to let minor problems roll off of him, or to use his frustration in scenes. Now he could see how menacing Valjean could be when he needed to be, with those well-defined muscles and that powerful --

_Fuck!_ Javert's prick gave a small throb of interest and he promptly turned back to the road. They were nearly at the library now. "You have to return something?" asked Valjean, jerking his head toward the back seat to indicate Javert's backpack.

"No, I have to pick something up."

"On a Saturday morning?" Valjean was grinning. "You must really like to read."

"Research," Javert growled a bit. "What does she like to read?" He, too, tilted his head, indicating Cosette.

"Supernatural stuff." The swerve of the car as Valjean parked it made Javert sway in his seat. "Teen fantasy and ghost stories. She'll listen to almost anything if I read it aloud to her, but when I leave her alone I come back and find her reading about vampires, right, Cosette?"

The girl had tugged out her earbuds as she opened the car door. "I read science fiction now," she said and stalked off toward the door, not waiting for Valjean. Shrugging, he fell into step beside Javert.

Though Javert still had no idea precisely what he was going to look for that would explain why he'd intended to visit the library, he paused at the new books table, which had a just-published atlas of the Milky Way with spectacular photos of nebulas and distant suns in various stages of their life cycles. It was a reference book, so he couldn't check it out, and didn't realize how long he had stood turning its pages until he felt a tug on his arm and realized that Cosette was beside him.

"What happened to that star?" she asked, pointing.

"Its plasma is being sucked into a black hole," he explained, tilting the book toward her. "At least, that's what the scientists think. This picture is a simulation, since most of the radiation wouldn't be visible..." He glanced up to find Valjean watching them with a peculiar expression that made his face grow warm. "Are you interested in astronomy?"

"Not really, but I read a book about a girl who lives on a planet whose star is dying," she said. "Is this going to happen here?" She pointed at the picture.

"The book says that it only happens about once every hundred million years," Javert told her, showing her the relevant text. "Our sun is more than four billion years old. It's going to last another four billion years, like most of the stars you can see in the sky. So almost certainly not."

"Almost," she said, but she was smiling at him, and when he looked over, Valjean was smiling too.

"We should get going or we'll be late to suit up," he told Javert. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

"No," Javert told him, since he hadn't looked for anything. "I'll check another branch."

"Can I come?" asked Cosette, turning to Valjean, whom Javert realized was carrying a stack of books.

Chuckling, Valjean headed in the direction of the circulation counter. "Sure," he said. "Next weekend we'll go downtown to the big central library." He started to say something else to Javert, but the woman checking out books at the counter greeted Valjean with a flirtatious expression and he got distracted thanking her.

The studio must have sent out press releases to everyone in town, because when they arrived at the field, there were already television crews waiting. Javert scowled and muttered -- he hated doing publicity -- but Valjean grinned at him and marched him right into the fray, announcing that the Inspector had insisted on keeping track of him, and Javert promptly put himself in character, declaring that given Madeleine's past he hadn't thought it wise to let him roam around unsupervised. There were shouts of "JVJ!" and "JV!" as people tried to attract their attention to take photos. Cosette hung back, watching them, though she had her ear buds in as if she might not be paying attention.

In addition to the costume uniforms, the studio had provided a full craft services table, so Javert was able to eat more than a protein bar before being called upon to play right field. Though his own cast wasn't particularly skilled, none of the actors from _The Phantom Zone_ could hit accurately or deeply enough to send any balls his way, and Javert managed to get on base with a hard ground ball that rolled past the distracted third baseman, scoring a run when the woman who played the notorious town gossip slammed a pitch three rows deep into the stands.

It was an odd experience for Javert to be cheered and slapped on the back, though he was less relieved that he hadn't disgraced himself on the field than that the shower stalls offered a degree of privacy. He'd been slightly terrified about finding himself facing a naked Valjean in a state of undress that wouldn't allow himself to hide any reaction. Valjean was late getting in to change anyway, having been surrounded by a crowd of fans and staff people from the charity, all of whom seemed more interested right then in getting his autograph than in helping children. While Javert was signing baseballs for the comparatively few audience members who asked him, he noticed that Valjean brushed off the women posing for him to go talk to the children instead. Their names were chanted together -- "JVJ!" "JV!" -- as if they were the show's leads, and though Fantine laughed, Javert could see the irritated pucker between her brows.

After a day surrounded by people, he wanted nothing more than to go home and clear his head, but Cosette asked about black holes on the drive back and Javert found himself conversing with her. "If she has nightmares about the sun being swallowed by another star, I'm calling you in the middle of the night so you can make her feel better," muttered Valjean.

"Is Mr. Javert coming to dinner?" asked Cosette.

"No," Javert demurred at the same moment Valjean spoke:

"Would you like to?"

"Papa never invites anyone to dinner," Cosette said rather petulantly.

Javert shot a glance at Valjean, who was concentrating on the road and didn't meet his eyes. "I had dinner with him last night," Javert said. "So that can't be true."

"I meant with me. At home." She frowned a bit. "Papa needs more friends so I can go out with my friends from school."

"You are _not_ going home by yourself instead of with Toussaint," Valjean said sternly. "And you're not going to see that hippie musical with a bunch of schoolgirls without adults." He glanced at Javert. "But let us bring you to dinner. You and Cosette can talk about the stars."

Javert started to object, but Cosette interrupted him with a question about whether Javert believed in astrology, and by the time Javert had finished explaining that all fortunetelling whether by the stars or Tarot cards or palm-reading was nonsense, Valjean had pulled up in front of a small house, more of a bungalow really, and parked the car.

"Toussaint barely speaks English, so she may not talk much, but I guarantee that you have never tasted better shrimp than hers," Valjean told Javert, coming around to open the doors for both Javert and Cosette. In fact, Javert rarely ate shrimp -- or scallops or clams -- but he gamely tried everything Valjean's housekeeper put in front of him and was surprised at how much of it he liked. He was also surprised at how hungry he was.

"Homework," Valjean ordered Cosette when they had finished eating, pointing down the corridor where Javert had been directed to the bathroom. The house was smaller than Javert would have guessed -- just the combined living-dining room and kitchen, the bedrooms for Cosette and the live-in housekeeper, plus what was presumably Valjean's room at the end of the hall, with a crowded guest bathroom whose shower stall looked like it had been added as an afterthought -- but then, Valjean had probably moved Cosette there when she was much younger and Valjean had much less money, and Javert had learned from their conversation that Valjean had enrolled her in a private girls' school rather than the overcrowded and not entirely reputable public school nearby.

"It's Saturday --"

"And you told me that tomorrow you want to go to the zoo, so the math needs to be finished tonight." Valjean glanced at Javert and grinned. "You're not going to become an astronaut if you don't do your math."

"I don't want to be an astronaut, I want to be a writer," she retorted, but she got up and started clearing the plates. "Are you going out again, Papa?"

"I need to drive Mr. Javert home." 

"But you're coming back? You're not having a sleepover?"

"No," laughed Valjean, startled, while Javert dropped his head to hide the color that he could feel coming into his cheeks. "We are not having a sleepover." He gave the girl a kiss on the cheek as she passed him with the plates, heading into the small kitchen. "Sorry about that," he told Javert.

Though he knew it was unwise -- he had too little control of either his mood or the tone of his voice -- Javert asked, "Do you often have sleepovers with men?"

"Not once since she's lived with me. I've only ever stayed out at night for location shooting where I had no choice. I have no idea where that came from." Valjean was still chuckling until he glanced at Javert's expression and grew serious. "She's been asking a lot of questions. I expect it's her age. Why can't she have her friends sleep over here, why won't I tell her more about her mother, why don't I have a girlfriend." He studied Javert in a way that made Javert's breath catch and his face grow warm again. "That last is probably obvious, even at her age, even though there hasn't been one single man."

"You make a point to hide it at work," Javert said, pleased at how neutral his voice sounded. Why the hell was Valjean telling him?

"Because no matter how much industry people claim to support equal rights, if you come out, you become 'that gay actor,' and everything you do becomes defined by it." There was something challenging in Valjean's gaze. "You know what I mean."

Javert had never been comfortable with that word, not even now when it was no longer illegal anywhere in the country. "I think people are entitled to their privacy," he said, his voice less calm and more irritated.

He'd meant it in a general sense -- his own thoughts were no more the business of the producers and prop department than they were of the people in his neighborhood or the general public -- but Valjean looked stung for a moment before his expression grew coolly distant. "Well, now you know all my secrets," he said. "I'm not sure which one they'd be more likely to write me out of the series over. Come on, I'll drive you home."

Just like the night before, Javert knew that he had managed to ruin what he had to admit had been an enjoyable evening, the most enjoyable he'd had in a long time. He liked the girl. He even, he had to admit grudgingly, might like Valjean if he had not known about the things Valjean had done in the past. "Everyone knows my secrets," Javert pointed out, clearing his throat a bit. "They always did, even when I was your niece's age. Father in prison on federal trafficking charges and attempted murder. Mother in jail for drugs, petty theft, and prostitution. Do you know what they'd have done to me in high school if they'd known I was a faggot?"

"Don't say that word." Instantly Valjean was on his feet, holding out a hand to pull Javert out of his chair. After a moment, Javert took it, letting Valjean help him up. "You don't have to --"

"Papa?" Unseen by either, Cosette had stepped back into the room. She stared at the two of them for a moment, then said, "I don't have any graph paper."

"I'll see if I can pick some up on the way home." Valjean let go of Javert's hand, tilting his head toward the door. "I guess I'd better hurry. Sorry."

"Don't apologize. Thank you for dinner." Cosette smiled at him, so Javert smiled back. "I'll see if I have any books that might interest you."

The conversation remained light in the car, Valjean discussing his surprise at which of their castmates could hit a baseball and which didn't have a clue, while Javert tried to think whether he had any old volumes on astronomy that weren't both out of date and too complicated for a young girl. "If you can come in for a minute, I think I have a fold-out map of the stars," he suggested as Valjean pulled into a parking space.

"I should --" began Valjean, then stopped himself. "Sure. Thanks." He swung his long legs out of the car, looking up at the sky. "I don't know how you can watch the stars with so much smog."

"You can see the bright ones." Stepping around the hood, Javert leaned back against the driver side door, pointing up. "That's Arcturus, and Altair, and the very bright one is Venus." He looked over at Valjean, expecting to see him looking at the sky. Instead Valjean was looking at him. Their faces were very close. For a moment Javert had no thought in his head but how easy it would be to kiss him. But that was lunacy, they were on a street with other people around, possibly photographers or just someone with a phone that could take a picture clear enough for the tabloids, and the fact that Valjean liked men did not mean that Valjean wanted to kiss Javert; likely he was just relieved to have someone who might help him escape attention on the lot. "Come inside, I'll show you."

As Valjean followed him, Javert had a moment of fear -- had he cleaned up well enough after himself the night before? He was usually neat to the point that he'd been mocked for it, but he'd gone to bed late and gotten up early. At least it wasn't as if Valjean was going to be walking into his fucking bedroom. He was moving books around a shelf, looking behind them for the map, when he felt a hand on his arm.

"I know you think I'm not trustworthy and I'm sure you'll never forgive me for how we met," Valjean began. Javert shook his head, but Valjean squeezed the arm and shook his own. "I appreciate that you don't try to fake it, considering how much phoniness we get all day long. I just wanted to thank you for how nice you've been to Cosette. It's been hard for her, and what she said was true -- we don't have people over or have family friends. Now that I'm on this show, it's only a matter of time before someone figures out my whole history, and she finds out, and everyone she knows finds out. She thinks she's in Catholic school because I'm overprotective about boys, but the truth is that I thought the nuns and the girls there would be less likely to judge her if the story broke."

"If you were so worried, why did you take the role?" asked Javert, leaning against the bookcase. "You could have disappeared. Like Madeleine could have, on the show. I can't figure out why he agreed to become mayor if he was afraid of being investigated."

"I asked them not to make me a regular, but they started asking questions, and I needed the money. Either I do what the social worker says and prove that I deserve custody or I'll have to disappear completely with her. That's no way for a kid to live."

Nodding, Javert handed him the sky map. "Valjean. I may not approve of your past, but I'm not planning to make it public."

"You know how much I appreciate that. I just wanted to explain, since there's pretty much no one I can talk to about any of this --" Unexpectedly, Valjean smiled, not the charming, flirtatious grin that he used on the lot, but the way he smiled at Cosette. "And to thank you, like I said. You've been fair to me, I should be fair to you." As he spoke, he leaned closer, so that their faces were nearly as close as they had been outside, his breath as warm as his smile.

It was an invitation. It was a temptation. Javert swallowed, trying to summon the inner strength to step back and resist it, as Valjean moved across the remaining inches between them and brushed his mouth across Javert's.

That could have been all it was, a grateful swipe of lips, a comforting pressure and no more. It could have been brief and friendly, a simple promise. What it became, when Javert leaned closer, was not simple, nor friendly. Fierce need lanced through him. He didn’t need Valjean, he told himself, but he needed to feel that kiss again, on his own terms. 

Valjean groaned, not stepping away when Javert took control, fitting his mouth to Valjean’s and breathing for them both. Valjean’s lips parted before Javert even realized he was going to take it that far, but he couldn’t decline the invitation, not when his own tongue had moved instinctively to accept.

It took the feel of Valjean’s tongue against his to shock Javert out of his own actions. He wrenched away, breathing hard as though he’d just chased down a criminal. With one hand he wiped his lips, watching as Valjean’s eyes fluttered open, blinking. There was a moment when they just stared at each other. Something unfathomable flickered through Valjean’s eyes, but before Javert could decide whether it was anger or confusion, Valjean shook his head and looked at his watch. 

“I’ll be too late to get that graph paper,” he muttered, bustling toward the door. 

"Valjean --" began Javert, then stopped himself when he discovered that his voice was pitched an octave too high. Again he swallowed, letting his eyes drop. "Thank you for dinner."

"My pleasure." Now that Valjean had put some distance between them, his voice was warm again. "Well...see you on the lot on Monday?" Once more Valjean looked confused, even embarrassed. "Unless you'd like to come to the zoo with us tomorrow. Call it research, since your character's described in the series bible as the son of a wolf."

"I have chores. I need to pay my bills and buy groceries." That was Javert's brain speaking. Unfortunately, some other part of him -- some part that should have known better -- was also struggling to make itself heard. "When are you going?"

"Early. Just for a couple of hours. Plenty of time for you to get back and do what you need to do." _Shit_ \-- Javert should have declined at once. Now Valjean was smiling, and the parts that were not listening to Javert's brain surged in open rebellion. "Want me to pick you up?"

_Say no_ , Javert told himself. What came out of his mouth was, "I should meet you, in case I need to leave before you do."

"Great." There was no help for it: the parts of Javert that responded to Valjean's smile, and to Valjean's touch, and to Valjean's _fuck_ kiss, had won this time. "Quarter after ten by the seals and sea lions? They're just inside the entrance." Though Javert was still cursing inwardly, he must have nodded, for Valjean gave him another brilliant smile as his hand turned the doorknob. "Call me if you get lost." And with that, Valjean practically bounced out the door, down the path, to his car.


	4. Chapter 4

Somehow the fact that he'd kissed Jean Valjean was worse than the fact that he'd wanked over him. Javert stared at the shot of whisky he'd poured as soon as his fingers had stopped trembling. He hadn't sipped it yet, resting the glass on his knee. The fiery liquid might be much like the kiss he'd initiated -- once begun, impossible to stop tasting.

He felt guilty enough about the wanking, and worse that the pleasure alone had been sufficiently alluring to make him want to do it again. But that kiss -- how had he let it go so far? And why hadn't he let it go farther, just to get it out of his system? Valjean would have let him, graph paper or no graph paper. Valjean had been the one wrapping himself around Javert, moaning, issuing open invitations with his body. There might have even been some hip action. It was all a blur in Javert's mind. A sexy hot blur.

"Fuck," he said and downed the whisky. At least his mouth no longer tasted of their kiss. _You don't like him_ , he reminded himself. _He likes you_ , a niggling voice taunted. Great: now his inner voices were disagreeing. _He likes everyone_ , he thought firmly, everyone from the clumsy PA who brought the coffee to the chain-smoking seamstress who adjusted them both in their costumes. _He's been lonely, he has secrets he can't tell anyone else. He wants an ally, not --_

Not what? A lover? Javert had received the message loud and clear that if he wanted sex, Valjean was willing. Possibly even eager. Valjean had made it apparent that he'd had nobody in his life for at least as long as he'd had custody of Cosette. But Valjean had also made it apparent that he didn't dare come out, not because it might threaten his status as the girl's guardian -- in this year, in this state, he wouldn't be challenged on the basis of his sexual orientation, though things had been different not long ago -- but because it might damage his career. The same concern applied to Javert: if he wanted to continue to get roles as a tough guy, he couldn't risk anyone discovering that secretly it was tough guys who excited him.

God damn it, if Valjean had been worried about being revealed by Javert, he had found a way to keep Javert quiet. Javert would not denounce Valjean and risk vengeance, having the one secret he'd managed to retain exposed to the public. All this charm and all these invitations were for Valjean's benefit, not out of any real liking or understanding of Javert. That, surely, was why Javert had declined the advances, not because he was afraid of where his own feelings might lead.

It would take more than one shot of whisky for Javert to relax enough to fall asleep, but he didn't want to risk waking up with a headache, nor to leave his body subject to the unwanted desires that plagued it when he was near Valjean. Locking himself in his bathroom, he quickly and efficiently jacked off, forcing himself to think about anything but Valjean. Pontmercy, who played the colonel, was good-looking even if he was also a self-absorbed prick, Javert had seen him with his shirt off, and Lafitte was still fit, Javert had always been drawn to men in positions of power, there was no reason he should fixate on Valjean's smile or the way his muscles rippled when he worked out or how nicely he filled out a baseball uniform, it was mouth-watering really, even if Valjean hadn't been hinting that he'd gladly unleash that bulge and spread Javert out and grab his cock, even if Valjean wouldn't climb right into the chair and mount Javert, taking Javert's cock in deep, riding up and down and squeezing it inside while he stroked himself and and grinned breathlessly and --

_Fuck!_

He'd missed the washcloth and come all over the floor mat. Now he was going to have to wash that, too. Unsurprisingly, he did not sleep well, his dreams plagued with images of Valjean playing baseball, holding an oversized bat in his hands.

If he couldn't conquer his animal nature, he could at least be the strongest and most dangerous creature of all. The zoo would remind him why it helped to be the son of a wolf -- not only in character, but in his own life, the lone wolf he'd learned to be. Yet Javert could hear the seals as soon as he passed through the gates of the zoo, as well as the delighted laughter of patrons watching the seals dive and frolic. There was a pervasive tang of salty water and musky seal. He'd deliberately arrived a little early so Valjean couldn't take him off guard. As always when the seals were active, there was a bit of a crowd near the enclosure, so it was easy to find a strategic spot off to the side where he could wait.

Valjean's arrival was easy to spot. Even though his focus was entirely on Cosette, several heads turned to give him openly interested looks. Javert noticed that Valjean didn't look back. He was listening to the girl, taking out a pocket comb and running it through her hair before replacing a crooked barrette. She made a face and Javert could hear the plaintive, "Papa!" from where he waited.

Some memory pulled at Javert of his time as a prison guard and a prisoner who'd been able to ignore so many similar hungry looks. Perhaps Valjean had always been like that; handsome men were used to being the objects of lust and learned early to ignore the open appraisal. Or perhaps he'd learned it behind bars, as Javert had learned to control the desires that plagued him. They'd each honed a different set of survival skills in prison.

He thought he saw Valjean mouth his name to Cosette, but she had already spotted him, giving him a wave and tugging on Valjean's hand. Not, obviously, in eagerness to see him, but probably to begin their outing. It wasn't until that moment that Javert realized Valjean had had doubts about whether Javert would actually join them. The smile that broke out spoke of unexpected delight and was, as far as Javert could tell, sincere. He wasn't sure whether Valjean was a good enough actor to fool him. 

"You lied to me," Javert said, making both Valjean and Cosette screech to a halt before one of them tried to hug him or something equally mortifying. "I looked at the map. There are no wolves here."

"Well, there used to be." Valjean's grin returned. "Anyway, there are snow leopards." He bared his teeth, cat-like, raising one hand curved like a claw, until Javert couldn't help grinning back. "And otters, Cosette talked about the otters the whole way here."

"I did not," she objected, but she was smiling too. "You said we could see the boa constrictor."

"Eventually."

"He doesn't like snakes," she told Javert, grinning conspiratorially as they set off toward the sea lions. Above her head, Valjean bared his teeth again, tilting his chin as if he planned to bite her, and Javert snorted a helpless laugh.

It was a clear, sunny morning, nice weather to be out of doors, even walking at this slow pace around the animal enclosures. Valjean insisted on buying them all lunch, which they ate in a corner of the zoo's café. Although the food was overpriced and would never earn the cooks any Michelin stars, Cosette asked Javert about quasars and debated with Valjean about whether she should have to continue with her piano lessons, and Javert found that he didn't mind the stale bread.

They were laughing together about Valjean's efforts to avoid the reptile enclosures when a camera flash blinded them. "You're the guys from _The Forlorn_ , right?" a voice demanded. "I'm tweeting this."

Javert couldn't see clearly -- there were orange spots in front of his eyes -- but he heard the yelp as Valjean grabbed the man's wrist. "You're going to delete that photo," ordered Valjean. "My daughter is not a celebrity and you have no right to be taking her picture."

"Valjean," Javert warned him, rubbing at his eyes while Cosette shrank back.

The moment Valjean released the man's wrist, the would-be-paparazzo jerked away, shouting, "Asshole!" Heads turned all over the café. "That piece of shit and his boyfriend tried to break my arm!"

"Are you a fan of the show?" Javert said quickly in the voice he used when his character was supposed to keep the peace as a policeman. The young man's gaze skidded away, ignoring Javert while he shook his hand in a way that if the arm had actually been broken would have had the man screaming for an ambulance. Fortunately, his companions, a man and woman of about the same age, appeared at his side, looking concerned and embarrassed. 

"We all are," the woman said, "We couldn't believe when we saw you both --" She broke off, her eyes darting to where Valjean stood, still practically shaking with rage. 

Forcing himself to smile at the many faces staring from around the cafe, Javert chuckled. "I know the mayor and I are enemies on the show," he said, giving another little self-deprecating laugh. When he could see the cafe patrons turning back to their meals, he kept talking in a reasonable though quieter tone. "Valjean and I are --" He nearly choked on the word _friends_ until his brain supplied, "-- co-workers."

The "injured" young man grumbled something that sounded ugly, but his other friend rolled his eyes and jostled him with his hip, leaning into say something quietly to him before stepping away and joining Javert and the woman. 

"Hey, could we get a picture with you?" He pulled out his cell phone. "Just you guys, you know, not the girl. I'm not an asshole," he said, emphasizing the last word in the other man's direction.

"Of course," Javert said, holding out one arm the way he'd seen Valjean do with the press at their softball game. It worked. The girl slid beside him, giggling nervously. There was a pause while they tried not to look at Valjean while trying to look as if they weren't _not_ looking at him. Valjean gave Cosette's hand a squeeze and led her over to one of the tables, then joined them on the woman's other side. While the man and woman traded places, Valjean gave Javert a grateful look before turning on the charm for the cell phone camera pointed in their direction. Then the woman produced a zoo map and pen and they both signed it.

"Don't worry about Marcus," she said as they scribbled their names, "He can be a jerk."

By now Valjean had flashed his perfect smile and had calmed down enough to approach Marcus, holding out his hand in truce. "I never miss the show," Marcus said, looking sheepish. His gaze slid over to Cosette. "Didn't know you had a kid, man."

"She's very shy," Valjean told him. Javert could see that Cosette was opening her mouth to speak and lowered his eyebrows, shaking his head fractionally. He didn't expect her to obey -- children usually ignored him unless he went out of his way to terrify them -- but she dropped her eyes and shrank back in her seat once more.

"Well, I deleted the pic." The young man, Marcus, held the phone facing them with a dozen thumbnails appearing on the screen, none of which contained Cosette. Javert knew that there was still a risk that this Marcus would go on Twitter or Tumblr or wherever it was that people posted accounts of their encounters with celebrities -- he had never looked, though he had overheard the smirking Sidonie from makeup telling someone else on the crew that there were stories about their characters on one of those sites which apparently verged on porn, though Javert couldn't guess with what woman on the series anyone would pair the Inspector. 

He forced himself to smile pleasantly, nudging Valjean with his elbow to warn Valjean to keep quiet. "We appreciate it," he said, thinking that if he were a policeman, he would find an excuse to arrest Marcus for intruding on their privacy and ruining their meal. A few people had stepped up behind him, likely hoping that they, too, could get pictures and autographs. "But you must excuse us. We're here to do research. Valjean, I believe the boa constrictors are in the reptile house?"

Valjean shot him a murderous look, though he calmed down once he realized that Javert had diverted the crowd toward the snakes while Valjean, Javert, and Cosette circled around to the snow leopards. "I didn't care if he took my picture, Papa," Cosette said.

" _I_ cared. It's my job to protect you."

"You can't do that if you go around getting into fights in public places," muttered Javert. "If that piece of shit decides to describe that encounter to a reporter..."

"Language," Valjean admonished, though Cosette was already giggling.

"That's what the man called you, Papa. And he said Mr. Javert was your boyfriend."

Javert was about to object to this when Valjean sighed, "He only said that because he thought I'd be offended."

"I knew it wasn't true," Cosette put in, hurrying ahead as she tried to widen the distance between herself and Valjean. "If he was your boyfriend, you'd kiss him and stuff."

Javert nearly ran over Valjean's heels, already spinning out ideas for damage control. An overly enthusiastic fan was one thing, but a precocious little girl was another. His mouth opened to rebut something -- the idea that Valjean would kiss him ( _kiss him again_ , his brain reminded him), that men ever kissed each other in front of anyone else, he truly didn't know what -- but before he could speak, he heard Valjean's chuckle.

"I'd kiss him often to let him know I was the only man for him," Valjean asserted, taking her hands and lifting her several inches, swinging her twice before setting her back on the pavement in front of the great cat enclosure.

She squealed before asserting her pre-teen sophistication with an expressive eye-roll and a hasty, "Papa!"

"I wasn't offended because of what that man said, but the way he said it," Valjean caught Javert's eye over Cosette's head, and Javert was grateful he'd closed his mouth. He got the feeling that Valjean and Cosette had discussed this before, seeing the girl nod as Valjean's voice deepened with parental authority. "It isn't anyone's business who I date."

"You never date anyone anyway," she said, looking up at Javert. "You sounded like a real policeman."

Valjean rubbed the back of his neck, nodding. "She's right. Thank you for stepping in," he acknowledged. Javert grunted dismissively but Valjean was already clapping him on the shoulder, a manly gesture that made Javert huff in pleased embarrassment.

"My ass was on the line too," he murmured, thinking Cosette wasn't paying attention, but she surprised them both with a giggle.

"Language!" she trilled.

The snow leopards must have eaten as recently as they had, for they were sprawled asleep in what patches of sun they could find, looking not like wild animals but large house cats with their limbs stretched and bellies exposed. Cosette wanted to take pictures of them with Valjean's phone, but since the leopards were immobile, she convinced Valjean to pose at the side, which he did with his hands raised like lion claws. Javert laughed helplessly when Valjean growled, and the next thing he knew, the girl was trying to persuade him to pose, too.

"I don't think --" he began.

"If we posted _that_ , no one would pay any attention to someone's account of us being rude," interrupted Valjean, grinning.

"I could post it," Cosette piped up, and there was a brief interruption as she and Valjean reiterated what Javert could tell was an ongoing quarrel about whether she was too young to be on Facebook and Twitter, with Cosette insisting that all her friends already had Facebook accounts under made up names. While they debated, with Javert standing off to one side, watching one of the leopards lazily lick a paw and clean its face, a pair of women approached.

"Are you Inspector Guerriere from _The Forlorn_?"

"No," Javert retorted with a certain amount of exasperation before realizing that he couldn't afford to irritate anyone else at the zoo. "I left the Inspector at work. I'm Victor Javert."

The women beamed, speaking so rapidly over one another that Javert could scarcely say which of them was saying what. "Oh my God --" 

"Knew it!" 

"She thinks you're so hot..." 

"You're taller in person." 

"...even better now that Jean Valjean is on, I love him!"

Evidently Valjean heard that last, because he turned and grinned at Javert's struggle not to frown -- he hadn't quite let go of his resentment that since Valjean's arrival, Madeleine was the focus of so much attention. But this was not an opportunity to be missed. "Then let me introduce you," Javert said as politely as he could manage. 

Just as he anticipated, more babbling that was just short of shrieking began. Whispering something to Cosette, who quickly retreated to the other end of the enclosure, Valjean walked over and put on his finest public smile. A small crowd had gathered by the time one of the women begged, "Please, would you let us take a picture of you?"

"Only if you promise to put a flattering caption wherever you're planning to post it," Javert replied deadpan, his gaze sweeping over all the other people who were suddenly fiddling with their cameras. He exchanged a glance with Valjean, who grinned and positioned himself where he had stood for Cosette. "Madeleine, you will surrender to me like a lion submitting to the claws of a lynx," growled Javert, quoting one of their show's more ridiculous lines. The women squealed. Even the snow leopards raised their heads.

"Inspector, I'm a man no worse than any man!" Valjean objected, though he raised his hands like claws again, grinning. Javert did the same. Several camera and cell phone flashes went off at once.

It was apparent that they would enjoy no more anonymity at the zoo. Not without some reluctance, Javert reminded Valjean that he had chores he needed to do before they returned to work the next day. He thought Cosette would object, but then Valjean reminded her that she had never finished the math homework for which she'd made him buy her graph paper. "I'll see you tomorrow, then," Valjean grinned at him as they went their separate ways.

Javert was gathering his recycling, trying to decide whether to use or toss the last bit of shampoo at the bottom of his current bottle and congratulating himself on not having thought about Valjean for at least an hour, when his phone buzzed with a text message from a number that Javert was embarrassed at how quickly he'd memorized. **TURN ON E NEWS RIGHT NOW** , it said.

There on the screen were himself and Valjean with snow leopards behind them, beneath a Twitter caption about sexy frenemies. The host was going on about how the actors and their show were enjoying a surge of popularity, but Javert didn't really pay attention. He was blushing at the discovery that he and Valjean looked good together, like old friends at the very least, smiling and tousled like they'd been entertaining one another with impressions of wild animals for hours.

Javert had never seen himself look so happy.

He heard the first growl the next morning from the guard at the studio gate. By the time he got to makeup before his daily call, he'd listened to half a dozen growls, some of them accompanied by hand claws and swiping motions. Oddly, none of them were, despite the teasing nature, malicious or even sarcastic. Solange, the makeup assistant, accompanied her claw swipe with a, "Way to go," and a wink that made the color rise in Javert's cheeks.

She was trimming his beard when Valjean plopped into the chair beside his, leaning back and closing his eyes with a grunt. Javert exchanged glances with Solange as Valjean dropped a cloth over his face before lifting one hand up, one index finger extended. "No roars. No claws. No trying to pet me."

Javert felt the corners of his mouth quirking up, though he tried to hide it. "Difficult morning?" he asked while Solange applied foundation carefully around his beard.

Valjean mumbled something and Javert and Solange exchanged another glance. It took a moment, but Valjean tugged the cloth off his face, looking over at them. "Don't want to growl about it," he said more clearly.

Javert could not help himself. His mouth, already turned up in a smile that his beard only barely hid, let out a noise that sounded more like a giggle than anything his mouth had ever uttered. He lifted his hand to put it over his mouth to keep any more such sounds from escaping but Solange slapped it away.

"You'll smear it," she said reprovingly.

"Don't tell me you haven't --" Valjean said, turning in the chair to look at him.

"I have," refuted Javert, making a claw. "You're a victim of your own popularity. Everyone wants to be in on the joke with you and everyone thinks they're the first one that came up with it."

Heaving a deep sigh, Valjean rolled back in this chair. "How big _is_ the internet anyway?" he sighed, and Solange chuckled.

"Poor JVJ," she cooed, putting her body between their chairs and making a claw so that only Javert could see.

They were interrupted by an officious knock. Without waiting for a reply, Lafitte came in, trailed by the show's publicist, Gorbeau. "Good work, boys," she said, smiling at them both in the mirror as she unfolded a newspaper. There at the top of the entertainment column was a reproduction of the zoo photo beneath the caption, **FIERCE COMPETITORS**.

"That's better placement than we managed with the baseball," added Lafitte approvingly.

"The zoo called, too, wanting permission to use the photo in their member newsletter. Since it's already been all over the news and the photographer agreed, I said of course." Gorbeau's eyes narrowed, calculating. "If you're planning other public outings and you let me know ahead of time, I might be able to arrange for a better --"

"That was not a _public outing_ ," Javert interrupted, suddenly feeling all the irritation that the growls and claws had failed to trigger, while Valjean cut in:

"Listen, Gorbeau, I'm glad it was good for the show, but it was my day off. I almost punched a guy who tried to take a picture of my daughter."

"It might have been a good idea for you to include your daughter," she replied smoothly. Valjean shot a glare at Lafitte, but he avoided their eyes. "People appreciate that you're friends," added the publicist, shaking the newspaper at Javert, "but you don't want to start rumors."

"My daughter is not a prop..." began Valjean.

"We worked six days last week," Javert added in a more measured tone, just as he had done in the zoo café. "We're entitled to spend our days off with our families without being expected to promote the show."

"Was your family there, too?" asked Solange curiously. Apparently she was the one person on the lot who hadn't heard the sordid details of Javert's history. For better or worse, it cut off Gorbeau's line of questioning, and she refolded the newspaper.

"Well." Lafitte cleared his throat. "Everyone at the studio is very pleased." With that, he shuffled out, taking Gorbeau with him. Javert glanced over at Valjean, expecting to see him frowning, but Valjean merely raised his hands in claws and roared like a lion, breaking the tension as Solange and Javert both laughed helplessly. 

The growls diminished when they reached the set. They were filming a pivotal scene in which Valjean was trying to comfort the sick Fantine as Javert burst in to claim that he now had proof Madeleine had run away from jail. Palomer had passed along a rumor that Fantine's character was going to die in the season finale, and the actress had made no secret of her displeasure that her role had wasted away in favor of the conflict between Madeleine and the Inspector. 

The atmosphere was grim and tense as Javert spontaneously pulled the ceremonial sword that was part of his costume, holding it between himself and Valjean. Improvising quickly, Valjean grabbed a piece of wood lying along the sideboard -- the set had been put together in a hurry, not all the planks were nailed down -- and they faced each other like fencers. "Brilliant! Keep it!" called Marc, who was directing the episode, though the showrunner had already begun to object that they didn't have choreography or the time to rehearse a fight sequence, and Fantine was muttering about getting even less screen time in favor of the men.

While everyone else was speaking over each other, Valjean grinned at Javert, made a very small claw, and emitted a very quiet growl. Managing to make himself heard over the din, he said, "We can do it," nodding to Javert, who took a moment to realize that Valjean meant they could pull off a non-choreographed fight. "I only have to knock the sword out of his hand, to show how strong Madeleine is."

Javert started to disagree, his mouth opening to say it, though he had no idea how to compete with either the burble of voices or Valjean himself. He saw Valjean look at him with confidence, then glance at Fantine who was glaring daggers at them both. She knew an action sequence would trump her dramatic -- or, in Javert's opinion, melodramatic -- performance.

"Of course we can," he said gruffly, though he wasn't sure anyone but the nearby cameraman heard him. "We're both professionals." He had no idea how he and Valjean had gone from being rivals and enemies to professionals, let alone whatever they had been at the zoo the day before and at dinner the night before that, but anything that made Fantine squirm like that was worth pursuing. She always argued for scenes that cut out his lines in favor of her own, and overplayed those scenes she did have.

There was a long moment when people voiced their protests, but Javert could tell that Marc had already made up his mind. "Can we do it with this light?" he called, getting several affirmations from the crew. "Then let's try it," he instructed, calling both Valjean and Javert over for a conference. "You sure about this?" he said once they were in range.

Practically twinkling, Valjean nodded, "Sure," with such ridiculous confidence that for a moment Javert felt it too before he realized how many things could go wrong. His nod agreed to what his brain was furiously denying. There were a few more instructions from the director before he went off to frame the sequence with the cameramen and Valjean stepped closer.

"I'm -- the mayor, that is -- has let his emotions run away with him, he'll realize that at once, but can't back down in front of the Inspector," he said quietly.

Nodding Javert asked, "So I don't get to run you through with this sword?"

Chuckling, Valjean called back,"Not today," as he strolled off to his mark. "Knock the beam out of my hand -- do me a favor and try not to splinter it. As soon as I let go of it, I'm going to grab your wrist with the sword and --"

"JVJ, pin him up against the wall next to the bed, just to the left of the table," Marc instructed. "Not too hard, or the wall will come down. Then freeze, glare at each other, and we'll cut."

"It'll be a taste of things to come, volunteered Palomer. "The season finale draft has a much bigger confrontation between the two of you."

"Stage left, JV, your face should be coming out of shadow as you approach." While Javert was blinking in surprise that even the senior members of the crew now were apparently calling them JVJ and JV, he heard Marc add, "Fantine, you're supposed to be terrified, not angry."

"Like you're trapped in a den with two leopards," a voice called from behind the monitor, and there was laughter all around before the director called for quiet.

Three takes later, they had the scene in the can, the crew was clapping, and Valjean was grinning right in Javert's face, his hand still pinning Javert's against the wall. "You can let go of me now," Javert told him, but someone shouted for them to hold positions, and the next thing Javert knew, a bright light was shining on them.

"Get a shot," he heard Gorbeau say. "We'll send it out with the press release." Abruptly Valjean's smile disappeared, his fingers tightening around Javert's wrist. Javert scarcely allowed himself to breathe as the set photographer snapped pictures of them. His body was humming with energy from being so close to Valjean -- no, Madeleine -- no, Valjean. This wasn't only his character's leftover fury.

"Is that your sword in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?" Valjean breathed in his ear.

"Fuck you." Damn -- Javert had said that loudly enough for others to hear, and there was a bit of hooting.

Valjean raised his free hand in a claw and growled. "Are we finished? JV and I haven't eaten in hours."

The chuckles were good-natured as the crew broke for lunch, with a few answering growls and claws aimed at them both. Someone had put animal crackers on the tables and toothpicks with paper lion cutouts sticking up out of the tomatoes in the salads. 

"See how good we are for morale?" asked Valjean, grinning, his usual cheerful mood restored despite the continuing zoo jokes. He had followed Javert to lunch without asking, grabbed coffee for him, even put in cream and sweetener as he must have watched Javert do the other morning in the car. 

"Don't do that," muttered Javert. "Half of them already think we're dating." He regretted the _already_ as soon as the word was out of his mouth.

"So? No one cares besides Gorbeau and she's only worried about a publicity problem." Lifting an arm, Valjean waved to Palomer, who had come out of the costume department wearing fuzzy cat ears. Dropping his voice, Valjean added, "I couldn't say anything yesterday because Cosette was there, but I can't stop thinking about kissing you."

"Shut up. Not here." Javert could feel his face turning scarlet. Quickly, he hid it behind his coffee cup. "It isn't professional."

"You're right. Not here. That isn't professional." Yet Valjean's smile had not diminished. "Since you know my interest in you isn't strictly professional, and this salad is terrible, we should talk about it after work, over dinner." 

Javert realized that by not saying, "No," to Valjean, he was as good as saying, "Yes," but he wasn't sure when he should have said it since Valjean always did whatever he wanted anyway. "I meant, we shouldn't talk about it, ever," he clarified, picking the multitude of onions out of his salad.

"After all we've meant to each other?" Valjean asked, obviously not taking Javert's protest seriously. He looked like he wanted to make a little claw but also knew that the joke had worn thin. Instead he leaned in as if he might try to kiss Javert, even here, despite his protests. "Don't make me beg," Valjean whispered, doing that annoying twinkling thing he did when he wanted to sway opinions in his favor. 

Instantly Javert did picture him begging, but under very different circumstances. "Don't you get tired of always getting your way?" he grumbled, perfectly aware that once again he hadn't said, "No."

"You more than anyone realize I don't always get my way," Valjean replied, popping one of the cherry tomatoes into his mouth, rolling it from cheek to cheek before biting it. "But I'll try to be professional and meet you after work to discuss some unprofessional things I've been thinking about." He leaned close again over the hopeless salad. "Thinking hard, ever since --" He sat back and grinned, reaching for his soda, sucking it through the straw.

"You really have no shame, do you?" snapped Javert, putting his fork down precisely. They stared at each other for a moment. Javert figured Valjean was trying to guess whether he was serious or not, so he gave him a clue and sighed, rolling his eyes. "But I keep not saying no to you, so it's just as much my fault."

"It's a date, then," Valjean announced, loudly enough that Javert gestured for him to keep his voice down, though nobody appeared to be listening and Javert did not want to risk attracting attention by demanding that Valjean call it something else. "Where do you want to meet?"

Javert thought that there might not be a restaurant anywhere in the city he considered private enough to avoid the possibility that someone would recognize them, or, worse, spy on them. "Since we both have an early call tomorrow, and it's on your way, why don't you come to my place. I'll bring something in," he muttered.

Again he was afraid for a moment that Valjean might try to kiss him right there, but Valjean only smiled his warmest smile and nodded. "All right. I'll bring dessert."

Since the Inspector only appeared in one scene after lunch, Javert was dismissed early in the afternoon. He told Valjean to text him before leaving the lot, then took himself to the gym -- not the studio gym, but his own gym, where none of the trainers would make claws or growl at him -- where he spent two hours exercising, listening to loud music, and trying not to think about what Valjean might want. Or what he might want. He supposed that they did need to talk, so that Javert could make clear that there were certain boundaries, both professional and personal, that should not be crossed.

Before Valjean had reappeared in his life, Javert had dared to hope that he had finally caught a break. Even if he'd worked harder than anyone else on the show, even if he'd felt isolated among the cast and crew, he'd found the work to be surprisingly enjoyable, giving him an excuse to be sarcastic and occasionally even violent without upsetting anyone. If anyone looked down on him, it was because he didn't have theater training and a long list of master classes behind him, not because of his family. He'd been comfortable doing what the directors and producers asked of him, accepting what limited accolades he was offered as a member of a big team.

Valjean had changed all that. Javert could see now that even before that first lunch when he'd scowled at Valjean in his trailer, Valjean had raised Javert's profile as well as his own, pushing for them to work together both on and off the soundstage, inviting Javert places where other people wouldn't have bothered. Javert had to admit that he kept forgetting about Valjean's past...that Valjean's charm was working on him.

One way or another, he needed to regain control.


	5. Chapter 5

Javert was on his way to pick up roast chickens and three-bean salad -- neither he nor Valjean could afford to keep eating the way they had over the weekend -- when he heard his phone's text message sound. **1 more scene. Prob there by 630.**

 **No need for dessert** , Javert texted back, wishing he was not aware that his pulse had sped up. On the way home, he felt slightly nauseous. Should he have bought more beer? Or wine? Is that what a good host would have done, or would that have been sending the wrong message? As he stepped through his door, he glared around his living room, which except for the bookshelves was sparsely furnished, and the bookshelves only contained books, not travel souvenirs or nostalgic trinkets. Not that Valjean's house contained piles of luxuries either -- the floral pillows and Russian nesting dolls had probably been purchased with Cosette in mind -- but Valjean would find Javert to be spartan and boring.

Goddamn it, he was terrible at this. He could find men to fuck when that was all it was, he'd been in good enough shape when he was younger to attract men who wanted sex without demanding conversation, but he had little experience with dating, and to start with Valjean of all people was the height of stupidity. Javert should have suggested that they meet at his trailer, where they couldn't overlook the professional relationship they had to maintain, whether such professionalism offered the benefit of requiring that Javert overlook Valjean's past or had the chilling effect of reminding Valjean that kissing Javert had been a mistake. By inviting Valjean here, Javert had probably conveyed the impression that he wanted and perhaps even anticipated --

No, he was not going to let himself imagine Valjean in his bedroom, pushing up his shirt and tugging down his jeans, kissing and touching and doing things to him that Javert had never let anyone else try because they would have been repulsive with a stranger and he'd never kept anyone around long enough to want to share them. Knowing what he knew about Valjean, thinking about going to bed with him should have seemed even more disgusting. Even so, Javert couldn't lie to himself well enough to deny that he'd been jacking off thinking of Valjean for days now. Did he have time...? No, he had to cut up the carrots and hope Valjean liked low-fat bleu cheese dressing.

When he heard the car pull up, Javert glanced out the window before Valjean could reach the door, to see whether Valjean had appeared up in the jeans he'd worn that morning or whether he'd put on something to show up Javert's own wardrobe, which was extremely limited apart from the clothes his agent had instructed him to keep around for auditions and public appearances. Jesus Christ -- Valjean was carrying flowers. And wine. And what looked like a bakery box.

"You didn't need to..." began Javert as he pulled the door open.

"I wanted to." Valjean smiled a bit shyly as he handed Javert the flowers. "Sorry about the vase, it was all they had." Since Javert did not own a vase, he was relieved as well as mortified that Valjean had been thoughtful enough to provide one with the flowers -- even a purple glass one with angels on it. "Listen, I realized that I may have made it sound before like I had..." Valjean's hand flailed in the air for a moment as Javert took the wine from him. "...you know, expectations about us. And I really don't. I had a nice time with you this weekend and I'd like to be able to do it again, even if you don't want kissing."

This was the time to say it, to say, "Good, because I don't want kissing or anything else with you," and to watch Valjean's face fall and to observe him bravely get through the meal and...and what Javert did instead was to kiss Valjean. He felt the bakery box smush between them, held up only because there wasn't enough space for it to fall. Valjean's mouth felt surprised but yielding, and the rest of Valjean was eager -- and, Javert was pleased to realize, hard.

"Fuck, Victor," Valjean gasped when Javert let him up for air. He could see that Valjean was ready to dive back into another kiss as soon as his lungs caught up, but Javert took just enough of a step back to free the box.

"I thought you didn't curse," Javert chided softly. He was even smiling, sort of, and he had pushed the voice inside him that said kissing Valjean was a bad idea to the back of his mind. He knew it would come back, but kissing Valjean just then had been a good idea and he was going to enjoy it for a few more moments.

Valjean let out a shaky laugh. "I don't. That was more like a promise." He looked down at the nearly flattened box, pulling it aside in all its lopsided splendor. "I brought rolls," he said, barely glancing at the box. Instead he was looking at Javert's mouth and the promise he had branded there.

"None of this is a good idea," Javert began, sensing that Valjean was about to protest and forestalling it with a gesture. "But you're going to turn on the charm no matter what I say, and I'll end up tearing off your clothes in a trailer or some out of the way corner of the set, and then everyone will know and it'll be something tawdry."

Shaking his head, Valjean said, "I meant it. I won't kiss you if you don't want. I won't even flirt with you if you don't want, though you make it so much fun to flirt with you, it might take some practice to be able to stop that." He looked at Javert's mouth again. "Though now I know what a good kisser you are, it'll be harder to give up if you ask me to." He looked like he was bracing for the ultimate sacrifice, and Javert couldn't help thinking of his earlier fantasy of Valjean looking hurt and bearing up through their meal like a noble suffering soul. "Are you?"

So immersed had he been in his private war of voices that Javert hadn't followed what Valjean was asking. "Am I what?" he asked, blinking.

Opening the deflated box, Valjean peered into the interior, withdrew a partially smushed dinner roll, shrugged and tossed it back into the box. "Asking me to give up kissing you."

"I kissed you," Javert pointed out.

A slow smile crossed Valjean's face. "I noticed." Then the smile wavered. "But you keep saying that none of this is a good idea, you think it's unprofessional --"

As uncomfortable as Javert became at the realization that he wanted to kiss Valjean when Valjean looked flirtatious, he became even more uncomfortable at the discovery that he wanted to kiss Valjean when Valjean looked wistful, too. "I am not having this discussion on an empty stomach," he announced, turning toward the kitchen with the wine in one hand and the flowers in the other. 

Valjean followed with the box of rolls, and for several minutes there was no conversation beyond the practical, whether Valjean wanted blackberry jam on his roll since Javert avoided keeping butter and margarine in his home, whether Valjean always used cutlery on chicken or would be tearing it right off the bone with his teeth if he hadn't been trying to be polite, whether to eat fruit with dinner or save it for dessert. Valjean pulled cumin from Javert's small spice rack to sprinkle over the chicken, reaching past Javert into the refrigerator with a satisfied hum to grab the cilantro and shred a bit into the bean salad. It made sense that Valjean could manage some basic cooking since he had a child in his home, but the rather spartan tastes that Javert had observed in Valjean apparently did not extend to food. He enjoyed his meal and he expressed it, moaning, sucking his fingers when he pulled the skin from the chicken, closing his eyes as he sipped the wine. 

Valjean was undeniably handsome and it was an unexpected delight to watch him in Javert's own kitchen, looking so relaxed, where, even if he was putting on a show, it was for Javert's benefit alone. " _This_ was a good idea," Javert confessed around a mouthful of chicken leg, its smell and taste improved by the spices Valjean had added.

"Everything I know about food, I learned from Toussaint," chuckled Valjean. "I was living on plain yogurt and boiled chicken, and I tried to make Cosette do the same." He took a sip of wine. "Cosette likes you. She has friends at school, but she doesn't bring them over to play -- I've never said she couldn't, but she knows I don't bring people home and I guess she thinks that's how it's supposed to be. I know she must be lonely."

"I'd think you'd rather have dinner with her than me," Javert said, aware that this was the second time in less than a week that Valjean had suggested that they meet during hours when Valjean could have been with the girl instead.

"I hope it won't have to be either-or." The corners of Valjean's mouth turned down as he smiled. "If you don't like kids, you should warn me now, so I don't keep bringing her around. I don't want to annoy you and I don't want her to get attached if you really think this is all a bad idea."

Javert did not like children as a rule and he often frightened them, but he was aware that Cosette enjoyed talking to him and felt oddly protective of her as a result. "She doesn't annoy me," he said gruffly. He took another bite of the salad before continuing. "But if you're worried that being around me might be detrimental to her, that's another reason this is a bad idea."

With a half-barked laugh, Valjean reached for his glass, draining it in one gulp. "I never said I thought being around you might be detrimental. I just don't want her to get hurt." He looked into the glass instead of at Javert. "Or me. Professionalism aside, I get the sense that you can never forget where I come from, and you don't believe I've really changed. So you think less of yourself when you let me -- what is it you always say? -- when you let me charm you. If you think it's a bad idea, as much as I like kissing you, I'd rather not push it. We can still go to baseball games and have dinner."

The reality of seeing Valjean unhappy and trying to put a brave face on it did not give Javert the satisfaction that he had imagined it might. "It isn't the past I'm worried about, it's the future," he muttered. "I can't see how this could be a _good_ idea. I don't know why I want it as much as I do."

"'It'?" Valjean's eyes twinkled a bit as he looked up. "If you want me the way I want you, Victor --" Javert felt his nose wrinkling before he could stop it, which made Valjean pause. "You really do hate your name, don't you. Why don't you change it? Actors do that all the time."

With an irritated shrug, Javert pushed his plate aside. He didn't want to get into his mother's pet names for him or being called 'Victoire' in school. "Too much trouble to change. But it feels like a stage name. It's never really felt like my name. Everyone calls me Javert."

"In that case...JV." Valjean made a small claw with his fingers. "I don't know whether it's a good idea or not, but I don't think it's a bad one. It's not some crazy whim that's going to go away. I like your company. If you don't trust me yet, I'll prove that you can. I don't want you to be ashamed of being with me, even if you don't think you could love someone like me."

"I don't know if I can love anyone," Javert blurted out before he could stop himself. It wasn't what he had meant to say -- he had meant to scoff at the notion that he would be so foolish as to fall in love with a co-worker, let alone an ex-convict, or any of the other labels with which he tried to dismiss Valjean. He had meant to make clear that he was in control of the situation instead of sitting here with Valjean gazing at him with undisguised pity, reaching for his hand. Javert raised it like a claw, but Valjean was undeterred, sliding his fingers between Javert's.

"That's too bad. No one should have to live without love." Then Valjean was standing, pulling Javert to his feet, brushing his lips over Javert's so gently that it might have meant goodnight or goodbye if Javert had not clutched at Valjean's shoulder and kissed him for all he was worth.

There was no turning back now; the time for protests had zoomed by. If a sexy, attractive man wanted to kiss him -- hell, to do anything he liked to him -- Javert was going to grab on to the chance. He knew he'd surprised Valjean, but they'd both adapted quickly.

"I knew you'd be like this," Valjean moaned, his words sinking between Javert's lips. Then he was kissing Javert's neck, his hair brushing Javert's jaw as he bent and nuzzled down to where Javert's shirt blocked his kisses. "Hot and full of passion," he explained, sucking a bit on Javert's Adam's apple before lifting his head for another kiss. "Even all those years ago."

That nearly stopped Javert, the thought that Valjean had noticed him -- wanted him -- as a guard in their barely spoken-of past. And just as suddenly he dismissed the idea. Valjean wanted what was at hand, in this case, Javert, who had presented a challenge with his initial dislike, and Valjean had responded in the only way he knew how, to overcome Javert's dislike with his own charm. If Javert had been instantly as friendly or as flirty as everyone else on the set, Valjean would likely as not have ignored him.

"You talk too much," Javert replied with a growl he hadn't expected coming out of his mouth. One hand slid around to skate over Valjean's ass, then more firmly as he claimed it with a squeeze. His reply was a half-strangled laugh that turned into a moan. "Even kissing doesn't shut you up."

"You'd better kiss me some more then," Valjean murmured as their mouths met again, finding a rhythm that both their bodies responded to.

"Tell me what you want," Javert said, knowing he was willing to offer nearly anything.

"You know what I want," Valjean countered, sucking a bit on Javert's lower lip until Javert whimpered. "I've imagined it all sorts of ways." Suddenly Valjean looked shy again, his eyes drifting to the table where the remains of their dinner surrounded the colorful flowers in the garish purple vase. "But not a quickie in the kitchen the first time. I told Toussaint I might have to work very late -- sometimes I sleep in the trailer if they keep me on the set. So we don't have to rush."

"You lied to your housekeeper?" Javert asked, his unease with the situation making the words sound like an accusation.

"It wasn't a lie. You know we don't always know when we'll run late. I didn't think you'd want me to tell Cosette we were having a sleepover." The pitch of Valjean's laugh belied his nerves. "I'd like to -- well, not take it slow, because I doubt I'll last that long. Can we agree that if the first time is quick and dirty, we'll try again?"

Javert did not say that twice or five times wouldn't be enough to do everything he wanted to do to Valjean. "I'm not due on set till after lunch," he said instead, realizing only after the words were out that it sounded like an invitation to stay the night, something he desired but believed, like so much else, might be a bad idea.

With a smile, Valjean picked up the dirty plates, taking them without prompting to the sink and dropping the chicken bones in the nearby trash can. Javert had wedged a stopper into the half finished bottle of wine when he felt a hand brush down his back and shivered helplessly at the sensations it triggered throughout his lower body. "Take me to bed," Valjean murmured.

Javert's bedroom was his sanctuary, and as such, he had kept it safe from outsiders, even the memory of outsiders. When he wanted to get off with someone else, he gravitated toward men met in bars whom he would never see again -- an army sergeant about to be deployed overseas, a medical examiner in town to testify at a trial. It was much safer than risking an accidental public encounter with someone who had once sucked him off in a bathroom stall or invited him in for a quick fuck. Now that his face was on television, he didn't dare visit even out-of-the-way bars, and there weren't many non-regulars at his gym. He paused in his doorway to brace himself for the sight of Valjean in a place he'd never welcomed another.

There was no point in pretending that Valjean wasn't the best-looking man Javert had ever seen up close, nor the most desirable, despite Valjean's past. It wasn't just the charm that worked on everyone else on the set; it was the way he smiled just for Javert, a smile Javert had only ever seen otherwise when Valjean was talking to Cosette. He knew better than to swoon like a schoolgirl, but he couldn't keep his hands from trembling as Valjean reached for them, drawing Javert toward the bed.

"I want to see you," Valjean whispered, reaching for the bottom of Javert's shirt and waiting until Javert nodded before starting to tug it up. He hadn't flipped the switch on, but light was leaking in from the hallway and the space between the blinds and the window, enough so that he could see Valjean's expression clearly as the shirt was tossed aside. He had been looked at with admiration and occasionally with lust, but something softer twisted Valjean's mouth. "Where did you get this?" One finger traced the raised scar that came around Javert's hip from his back.

"Reckless youth. I don't want to talk about it."

At the tightness in Javert's voice, Valjean released him, pulling his own shirt over his head and turning slightly. Javert had seen Valjean undressed on television, but makeup had covered what looked like the mark from a belt or a whip. "That's both of us, then." Bending, Valjean kissed Javert's scar, eliciting another shiver. Glancing up, Valjean slid to his knees, reaching for the button on Javert's jeans. "I want to make you come," he said.

Javert felt his face growing warm. He was tempted to ask why they couldn't just fuck already, why Valjean had to make so much of it, but even in the dim light he could see Valjean looking up at him with hope and something else in his smile as he pressed a kiss to Javert's hip, and Javert could not summon the words to dissuade him. "If that's what you want," he said gruffly, letting Valjean turn on his knees and urge Javert to sit on the bed, pull off his pants and underwear, shift up between his legs, mouth never ceasing its attention to Javert's skin. 

"The gossip wasn't wrong." Valjean sounded pleased.

"It's not really ten inches. Not even nine." 

"But almost."

Javert told himself that it was ridiculous to be proud of a muscle whose size he had no role in determining. It wasn't the same as praise for the arms he had to work out every day. He'd expected that Valjean had plenty of experience sucking a cock, probably more than Javert did himself, but he wasn't prepared for Valjean's enthusiasm, urging Javert's legs wide apart so that he could press his face between them, inhaling and exhaling with a hum of satisfaction, licking through the slit at the tip of his cock to catch the wetness already beginning to leak out. Shuddering, Javert reached for Valjean's shoulder, hoping he wouldn't have to utter the words to warn Valjean to slow down. "Christ," he managed, his voice shaking. "Valjean..."

Fingers replaced the tongue that had been exploring every vein and contour of muscle as Valjean hummed again, more a laugh this time. "I won't call you Victor, but no last names in bed," he admonished. Then he swallowed Javert whole, or so it seemed -- no small feat, even if the gossip had been exaggerated concerning the size of Javert's cock. Javert thought that Valjean made a small choked noise, but he adjusted quickly, cupping and rolling Javert's balls in his hand, shifting on the bed in such a way that Javert suspected he was rubbing himself against the firmness of the mattress.

"You had better not come all over my bedspread, Jean," Javert panted between groans. He heard Valjean make a small noise of agreement, but he was mostly focused on the sight of Valjean's head bobbing, mouth stretched wide around him, and the thought that Valjean got so excited doing this to him that Valjean wanted to rub off on his bed...fuck oh fuck. "Won't last," he gasped out, and Valjean sucked him in deeper with a nod, "Jesus," Javert was going to disgrace himself, "Been too long, I'm --" Valjean moaned around him exactly the way Valjean had moaned in pleasure while eating, and that was it. Javert made a noise he'd never heard from his own throat before, arching off the bed, gripping Valjean's shoulder to keep him right where he was as Javert's cock pulsed and flooded his mouth.

Jesus. Jesus Christ. "Best..." he'd groaned before he could stop himself, and he heard once more that contented hum, vibrating around him. He was embarrassed and delighted all at once, still shaking from the power of his climax.

"Beautiful," Valjean grunted in agreement, lunging up over Javert, catching his weight on his hands so he could lower himself more gently to kiss him. Javert had never much liked the taste of himself, after, but he liked how Valjean kissed, with the same enthusiasm with which he sucked cock, and he liked what he could see of Valjean face when he cracked his eyes open, the promise and the want there.

Still blushing at how quickly he'd come, Javert grabbed Valjean's shoulder and flipped them both over. "My turn." He heard Valjean's soft whimper of anticipation and he slid down, taking Valjean's jeans with him, tossing them in the pile on the floor with the socks and underwear. Valjean's cock was nearly as big as his own, and as thick for its size as Valjean's well-exercised arms. "Nice dick," grunted Javert before bending to his task, tasting it. Valjean's cock. He paused to see whether a wave of reflexive disgust would overtake him -- Valjean whom he'd met behind bars, a criminal like Javert's parents, he should not like this, he should not want Valjean -- but the salty-bitter taste just made him want more. 

"So good," moaned Valjean though Javert hadn't really even done anything yet. "Wanted this so much with you." All right, that was just flattery. "I knew you'd be as aggressive with this as everything else." 

Fuck, did Valjean ever shut up? Javert was still flushed from his orgasm, compounded with the compliments, with the added admission to himself of how very much he liked doing this with Valjean, and even, fuck it all, how much he liked Valjean. Obviously it was up to him to shut Valjean up, so he slid an arm beneath Valjean's thigh, urging the knee to bend. Valjean obeyed him, and for a few minutes the sounds were inarticulate as Javert licked his balls, appreciating how hairy Valjean was -- thank god he didn't actually shave his legs as he had pretended in wardrobe a few days earlier.

Then the babbling started again, "Oh, JV, that's amazing, don't stop please!" Javert decided he didn't mind, since the babbling was mixed with noises of pleasure, grunts and moans and things that weren't curse words but sounded sexy the way Valjean called them out. Using his tongue, Javert felt the pulse of Valjean's cock thrumming against him.

Javert also decided he liked when Valjean begged. That conjured up more images of reasons Valjean would beg him -- for pleasure, for release. Remarkably, considering how recently he had come, Javert's cock gave an eager twitch, which gave him hope for the "try again" that Valjean had babbled about earlier.

Over his head, there was a softly murmured series of, "Jesusjesusjesus's" much like Javert's own. Lowering his mouth further, Javert felt the tickle of hair against his nose from the wiry bush framing Valjean's cock. The hand in his hair clenched -- the only warning he got before Valjean bucked and roared, releasing down Javert's throat.

Javert felt like he'd run a race. If his mouth hadn't been full of dick, he would have been panting. Instead he kept his mouth in place, listening to the breathy noises overhead. Slowly the fingers in his hair untangled.

"Acting isn't the only thing you do well with that mouth of yours," Valjean said with a breathless laugh. "Will you come up here and let me kiss you?"

The hint of uncertainty in the question, and the way Valjean reached for him as he raised himself up, made Javert's chest feel strange, as if he'd exerted himself too quickly after eating. Then Valjean's eyes crinkled with a smile, and the kiss was gentle and curious, with Valjean's fingers smoothing the hair they'd abused a few minutes before, stroking Javert's scalp. "I should've known you'd be a cuddler," Javert grunted, though he was smiling too.

"I had a feeling you'd complain, but you're not stopping me." Shifting, Valjean turned them both onto their sides without letting go of Javert, putting one of his legs over Javert's to keep their lower bodies close. "You feel so good. All of you."

"I'm sweaty and I need to piss."

Yet Valjean clearly wasn't going to be deterred, laughing as he slid his hands up Javert's back. "Me too. But give me a minute. I want to enjoy this. I've wanted it for a long time."

"So you said." Javert felt his cheeks reddening again. "Do you always talk this much in bed?"

"Actually, no. By this stage I'm usually starting to feel guilty because it can't be more than sex. But you already know all the things I can't talk about." Valjean's thumb brushed over Javert's mouth. "I've never done it with anyone who knew my whole story."

"I don't know your whole story," protested Javert. "I don't know why your story is any different than any other --" He stopped himself before he could finish, _any other criminal I've met._

"I'll tell you, if you want to know." Warm lips brushed Javert's own again, making Javert's whole body respond. "I liked what you said before, that we should worry about the future, not the past."

"That wasn't exactly what I meant," Javert began, but Valjean was kissing him in earnest and he didn't know how to resist, not when he was naked in Valjean's arms with Valjean's hands sliding down his back and Valjean's prick stirring against his own. Even though he wasn't fully recovered from his orgasm, a wave of raw need surged over him, leaving him breathless as it receded, his chest aching as it rose and fell against Valjean's. Fuck -- that had never happened to him before, not for a specific person. He wanted to take it and bury it inside Valjean, to feel those muscles that could overwhelm his own yielding to him instead. 

His tongue thrusting into Valjean's mouth must have conveyed the sentiment, for Valjean lifted his head, smiling at him. "Someone's getting hard again."

"Not just one someone." Shit -- he'd been so busy organizing dinner that he'd forgotten to organize other things. He was pretty sure he had condoms but they were in the drawer where he kept his keys and wallet, not in the bedroom where he'd never had need of them. "I need the bathroom."

"As long as we can start again when you get back." Valjean watched him get up with a lazy yet predatory expression that put Javert absurdly in mind of the snow leopards. He raised his hand in a claw, making a small scratching motion as he growled, and Valjean laughed in delight.

He was too hard to piss, so he washed his hands and face first, then did his business and left the door open for Valjean, gesturing to indicate that the bathroom was all his. While Valjean was inside, Javert dashed to find the condoms. He had never fucked anyone without them -- he had never been in a relationship long enough to forego protection -- he hoped that Valjean didn't intend to ruin everything by suggesting that they weren't necessary, even if Valjean had been telling the truth about his long period of abstinence.

He was sniffing the lube to make sure it smelled all right when he heard the bathroom door swing open. Valjean had combed his hair. "All right?" he asked Javert, flashing the sort of smile he gave the crew when they came to poke at his costume between takes.

Dropping the lube quickly to hide his discomfort, Javert tried not to stare, though he knew that not even he was immune -- perhaps that he was even less immune than most -- to that smile. "You look good."

Waving a hand dismissively, Valjean sat beside him on the bed, close yet not so close that it was an immediate invitation. "I need the girls from makeup to look good. They made it clear when they hired me that it was mostly because I had these -- " He flexed a well-toned bicep. " -- left over from when I filmed _The League_."

The bastard was showing off. Javert tried to keep his hands from balling into fists. He wanted to slide his hands over those muscles, he wanted Valjean to touch him, but he wasn't about to beg for the latter and he wasn't sure if he needed to ask for the former. "Whatever works. They never auditioned my muscles," he muttered.

"They didn't need to." Grinning, Valjean looked him over, running a hand along his thigh. "I like this side of you. The side that's willing to say that I look good."

Heat slammed into Javert's face. "You still talk too fucking much." To cover his embarrassment, he leaned over for a kiss. That, at least, was returned with enthusiasm. Javert could tell that Valjean had borrowed his mouthwash. Feeling more comfortable with Valjean's arms wrapping around him, Javert slid a hand over his belly.

"You bring it out in me," Valjean told him between kisses. "I'm usually pretty reserved so I don't slip up and say anything I shouldn't."

Christ, Valjean felt good, he even smelled good, though he couldn't have had time to wash much in the minute it had taken Javert to dash into the hallway. "Have you ever? Slipped up."

"About prison, you mean?" Javert felt the huff of a rueful chuckle against his mouth. "Once. Someone I thought I could trust. He got a headache and disappeared within five minutes."

"You weren't worried someone else would find out?"

He kept his hands moving on Valjean, discreetly inhaling his skin, feeling rather than seeing the shrug in reply to his question. "Someone's bound to find out sooner or later. You know what people think when you say prison -- that they might catch the plague just from having dinner with you. I'm sure this one guy didn't talk. He was probably afraid that no one would ever have sex with him again from the association if they knew about me." Turning his head, Valjean rubbed his nose against Javert's throat. "You used to be disgusted by me because of prison. I'm a little surprised you let me come in your mouth."

"It's not my job any more," Javert said.

He'd meant to sound emphatic about no longer being a guard, but Valjean sat back, leaning his weight on one hand behind him. "It was your job to be disgusted by prisoners?"

"Not disgusted. Distant. Everyone had a story -- abusive parents, sick little sisters, friends who pressured them to join gangs. I never met a prisoner who thought he deserved to be there. It was always society's fault." In the dim room, he could see that Valjean's lips were pressed together in a thin line. "Now I'm talking too much. I broke the mood, didn't I?"

"This seems more like you than telling me I look good." Reaching for his hand, Valjean attempted to study Javert's palm as if he fancied himself a fortune teller as Javert's mother had done. "I like that you're honest with me. You don't pretend you can just forget about where I come from. I hope it means you're being honest when you say I look good."

Apparently Valjean took pleasure in teasing him. "I've never lied to you," Javert told him stiffly, hoping the darkness hid his blush. "You must know you've always looked good to me."

The hand was pulled swiftly to Valjean's mouth, a kiss brushed over the knuckles as Valjean shook his head. "I know you've always thought I look like I work out. That's not the same thing as being attracted to someone." Javert could feel Valjean's mouth moving up his arm, kissing inside his elbow. "What do I look like I'd be good for?"

"I think you've got a pretty good idea." Javert could feel his voice lowering to a growl. "What we just did was nice, but I want more."

Wriggling in an exaggerated manner that shook the bed, Valjean grinned and tilted his chin in the direction of the lube on the nightstand. "You haven't told me what you like. Is that for you or for me?"

"For you." Again Javert felt his face grow hot. He had not even considered the other option, though he wasn't about to admit that to Valjean. "I like it on top."

The bed shook again with Valjean's laughter. "Why am I not surprised?" Stretching out, he lowered himself onto his back, grinning up at Javert. "It's fine with me. I like it both ways."

He reached for Javert, who followed him down, tossing the lube beside him. "You're still talking too much."

"Do you usually just go at it? No conversation at all?"

"Yes." The enthusiastic wriggling ceased. So much for Valjean claiming he wanted honesty. Pursing his lips, Javert added, "I'm not used to having anyone to talk to. What do you want to talk about?"

With a soft groan, Valjean shook his head, raising himself up to reach for him. "I'm not used to having anyone to talk to either." Hands slid up Javert's forearms toward his elbows. "I'm starved for it. And your voice gets me going. You know your voice is why the producers hired you, not your muscles." Valjean kissed his cheek, then his earlobe. "But I don't want to push you to talk when you want to make lo-- " There was an audible catch in Valjean's throat as he stopped the words. "To have sex."

Again Javert felt certain that he'd fucked up the mood. "You don't want that?" he asked crossly. "Or is it still too soon for you?"

"Not too soon." Valjean nudged his lower body against Javert's in a way that made that much clear. "I didn't mean for you to stop. I thought maybe you only invited me here to make a speech about how inappropriate it would ever be for us to do anything like this, and send me home with my tail between my legs." Leaning up, he sucked on Javert's earlobe, making Javert groan. "I'm really happy to do whatever you want."

Javert turned to kiss his mouth, growling without even trying. "I don't want your tail between your legs, I want my tail between your legs." Valjean's hum of approval vibrated through him as Javert pressed closer, lowering him back to the mattress.

Valjean spread out around him with a happy hum, sliding a foot up along Javert's leg. "Then you don't really mind if I talk too much?"

"Does it feel like I mind?" As Valjean chuckled, Javert maneuvered his hand around the lube, managing to get it open and squeeze some out over his fingers. "I'll just have to keep your mouth occupied." He knew that Valjean was watching him as he bent one of Valjean's knees, raising the leg. "You can't talk if you're gasping." With little preliminary massaging of the tight pucker behind Valjean's balls, he pushed a slick finger inside him.

Valjean sucked in a shaky breath, but not even being finger-fucked was going to silence him. "I can tell you how good that is when I'm gasping." Watching him, Javert angled the finger, feeling for the bump in the soft tissue. He could feel his eyes widening in satisfaction as Valjean arched and cried out. "Oh! That's even better!"

Bending, Javert kissed down his chest, moving his finger slowly inside Valjean, unhurried though his own cock was now completely recovered and twitching to get in on the action. Reaching down, Valjean helped pull himself open with a hand as Javert pushed in a second slick finger, focused on feeling Valjean stretch around him. "You're going to spoil me," groaned Valjean while Javert worked him loose. "You must have done this with more men than I have."

Javert's head snapped up, eyes narrowing again. "Not that many." The blood was pounding in his cock, so he eased his fingers out.

"I wasn't insulting your honor." Valjean grinned breathlessly at him, reaching for the lube. "Let me do this. I'm still trying to figure out what you said at dinner, that you don't think you can love anyone."

The need to retrieve a condom allowed Javert to turn away, finding that his slippery fingers wouldn't let him open the packet. He handed it to Valjean. "I'm too grouchy to be anyone's lover."

"We'll see if you're grouchy after this." Grinning, Valjean tore the corner of the packet with his teeth. He put a bit of lube inside the tip before unrolling the condom onto Javert, who couldn't hold back a whimper as Valjean took the lube and slicked up the latex covering Javert's cock. "Obviously you need the extra large ones."

Javert did not feel grouchy at all when he urged Valjean's knee back up and watched Valjean rock onto his back, raising both his legs. "That's good," he growled in approval, shifting, rubbing his cock over Valjean's balls.

"So's that." Grabbing his cock, Javert aimed and pushed, feeling Valjean's body yielding to it, though Valjean was panting. "Christ, JV, you're huge!" It made Javert hesitate, trembling with the effort not to move, but Valjean shook his head wildly. "No, don't stop! Just feel so full. Want everything you have!"

With a grunt, Javert pulled back nearly all the way, then pushed in harder. If Valjean was telling him not to stop, he wasn't going to stop -- not when everything in him was aching to fuck Valjean for all he was worth, that tight ass, those clenching muscles. He groaned when Valjean squeezed deliberately around him, but Valjean was making most of the noise, babbling things like "Just like that!" and "Oh yeah right there!" When Javert reached for his cock, Valjean bucked eagerly into his fingers, "That's even better!" Grunting, Javert put his back into it, pumping into him over and over, feeling Valjean's hand move over his own so that he didn't even have to concentrate on the rhythm. "That's it, give it all to me!"

Despite having been sucked off not an hour before, despite his nerves, despite all the reasons he'd been telling himself that this would be a bad idea even if he got so lucky as to find himself in this position, Javert could feel the end coming too quickly. He was trembling with the effort to hold back, arms vibrating as he thrust and thrust. "You give it to me!" he demanded, his fingers going limp beneath Valjean's, letting the hand over his direct his attentions to Valjean's cock.

"Going to, going to come so hard!"

Jesus Christ oh God holy fuck, it was too much. Javert wanted to say something but he was too breathless, he was shaking in pleasure as he buried his cock inside -- "Jean!"

"Yes, oh, fuck!" Valjean was bucking wildly into both their hands as he shouted, spurting between them. A hot spatter hit Javert's chest. The arm supporting his weight gave way, making him sink against Valjean, trying not to collapse completely on top of him.

"God," Valjean whispered, making it sound more like prayer than blasphemy.

"I knew you'd..." Shit. The pleasure had loosened Javert's tongue. He swallowed, still trembling, hoping Valjean would be too far gone to hear.

A hand slid around Javert's back. "Knew I'd what?" panted Valjean.

Javert shook his head as if he didn't remember, feeling Valjean try to catch his breath. "Knew you'd be like this," he said finally.

His entire body felt squeezed in Valjean's embrace before Valjean lowered his hips to let Javert's cock slide out before it softened. "Eager to come with you?" asked Valjean, still panting.

Nodding, Javert rolled to the side, reaching to take the condom off. "I was thinking hot, but eager works."

"You did most of the work." Valjean turned toward him, pushing his hand to the side and taking the condom off him in what struck Javert as an oddly tender gesture. He let out a soft hum of contentment, watching Valjean sit up to grab tissues from the table by the bed. "It was a lot better than hot."

It should have been embarrassing to let Valjean clean him up. Instead it was strangely arousing -- not that it went straight to his cock, which was going to be inert for several hours now, but in some unfamiliar way that made Javert realize there was no way this single night with Valjean was going to be enough. "I knew you'd be better than hot," he confessed.

With a grin, Valjean leaned over to kiss his cheek. "I always knew the sex would be good."

"Always?" Javert felt his cheeks warming again, though his eyelids were growing heavy. "How long have you thought about it?"

"Since the day you turned up on the show. You know I noticed you before that." Valjean's eyes dropped, so Javert reached out to cup his chin. Like a cat, or maybe a snow leopard, Valjean rubbed his face against Javert's hand. "You aren't sorry, are you?"

Javert shook his head. "Are you?"

"The furthest thing from sorry." Discarding the tissues, Valjean moved closer, sliding a hand over Javert's hip. "I never thought we'd really end up here. I hoped we would." Leaning on the pillow, Valjean smiled at him. "I hoped we would more than once."

Javert hadn't thought as far ahead as afterward. If he had, he'd probably have expected Valjean to get up and go home. Yet Valjean didn't seem to be in any hurry to leave, and Javert didn't want him to -- consequences be damned, he'd worry about them later. Relaxing, he stretched his legs out, brushing tentatively against Valjean's. "You're the one who has to lie to his housekeeper," he pointed out.

"It wasn't a lie, exactly. I've slept in my trailer when I've had to shoot really late." Valjean's leg rubbed more firmly against Javert's, though his smile had turned shy. "You could come stay at my place. Have dinner with us. There's an extra room. Cosette doesn't need to know who's sleeping where."

This close to him, Valjean could probably feel Javert's pulse speed up as he tried not to let on how much he would like that. "Your housekeeper would know," he pointed out gruffly.

"My housekeeper and I have an unspoken agreement. I don't ask to see her immigration papers, she doesn't ask me any difficult questions." It sounded like the sort of arrangement that would have appealed to Madeleine on their show, and Javert found himself chuckling, which made Valjean grin. "I'm surprised you approve."

"It's outside my jurisdiction. And you can't expect me to give up such a fine ass." He squeezed Valjean's hip.

Valjean pressed closer, rubbing a leg over Javert's. "I was hoping you'd want to keep it around."

Javert nearly moaned in contentment. "You know I get grouchy. You'll probably kick me out."

"I do know you get grouchy. You'll probably go storming out before I'd want to." Valjean's arms slid around his waist, pulling him against Valjean's chest. "You don't feel grouchy now. You feel relaxed. Can I stay?"

"You tell me." Valjean nodded, moving his cheek against Javert's hair. "I usually wake up grouchy," Javert warned.

"I'll make you coffee." Cackling, Valjean gave his ass a squeeze. "Or I'll suck your cock. Or both. Set your alarm nice and early."

Javert's eyes had drifted shut. He opened them, making sure the red alarm light was lit on his clock before moving to find a position where they fit together comfortably. When he nodded, the top of his head rubbed beneath Valjean's chin.

"This is really nice."

Javert closed his eyes again. "I should've known you wouldn't be the type to just grunt and fall asleep after."

"You did know." Valjean let a small chuckle slip out. He kissed the top of Javert's head in a way that Javert vaguely remembered his mother doing, decades earlier, before it had become clear that she would always love the bottle more than she loved her son. "If you don't want me to talk too much, you'll have to keep my mouth full. Sweet dreams, JV."

"You too." Javert's voice, already thick with sleep, came out like a growl. He heard Valjean giggle softly as he made a claw with his fingers.


	6. Chapter 6

All morning long, Javert waited for the other shoe to drop. It wasn't merely superstition or belief that bad news always followed good. He had lived long enough to know that when he questioned his own personal code -- the one that had made him strive to live a respectable life despite what his parents had done, to avoid bad influences and resist temptations -- he always ended up sorry.

Except that nothing could dent his good mood. Not the people who refused to let a joke die a natural death and kept pretending to be snow leopards, not the P.A. who handed him four rapidly-revised pages with lines he had less than an hour to learn, not Fantine who cornered him and hissed about how unprofessional it was for him and Valjean to upstage her in every scene. Not even Christine, dressed in her prostitute costume, flirting shamelessly with Valjean, who flirted back good-naturedly and only rolled his eyes in Javert's direction when she couldn't see. When they were done filming for the day, he and Valjean had plans to go to the gym, then to Valjean's house for dinner with Cosette, and Javert had extra clothes stuffed in his gym bag so that when he arrived for work the next morning, he wouldn't be wearing what he'd left in the day before. Not even Gorbeau's request that they spend their lunch break talking to an entertainment show about their characters ruined Javert's anticipation.

"What are you smiling about?" Palomer asked him as she stitched a button that had come loose on his coat.

Javert waved a prop letter in her face. "I believe I have the evidence to arrest the mayor."

"What did he ever do to you?" she asked, grinning.

"Snatched JV's baguette," interrupted Pontmercy, making a gesture to indicate holding something big between his legs, and everyone within earshot laughed. Javert allowed himself to smirk. The rumors about the size of his cock had only enhanced his reputation and they clearly hadn't deterred Valjean. Though Marc called for them all to stop fooling around and get back to work, Javert did not take the complaint personally. This was for the most part a happy set, the show was doing well, the producers and publicists were happy. He just needed to be careful not to screw it up.

The interview started harmlessly enough, even though Fantine took up most of their time with histrionics about her character's suffering, abandoned and separated from her daughter. "What about you two? It seems your onscreen animosity doesn't extend off the set," the perky brunette interviewer said, holding up a copy of the photo of them at the zoo with the fake claws and the real smiles.

"Javert and I have known each other for a long time. He made my work a million times easier when I was cast," Valjean replied easily, giving the brunette his most charming grin. 

"Your characters seem to be the two alpha dogs of Montreuil," the interviewer shot back, also grinning as she demonstrated that she'd done her homework regarding the show. "Have you been in competition for roles before?"

Javert took that one, shaking his head. "Not really. Our approach and training is very different."

"Still, you seem well-matched going up against one another when you fight. Where did you meet?"

He and Valjean both hesitated long enough that it was obvious the interviewer was going to press one or the other of them for an answer. "A very small theater. You'd never have heard of it," Javert began awkwardly.

"We were playing much less interesting roles in a bad adaptation of an old French story. I hated my character and I thought JV was way too serious." Though he was impressed by how quickly Valjean improvised, Javert winced inwardly, thinking that Gorbeau if not this TV producer was sure to go looking for programs or publicity photos. "What's great about being on _this_ show is the ensemble work," Valjean went on. "I've learned so much from Fantine, too, her suffering comes from a place of such truth that it makes it really easy for me..." 

Immediately, Fantine seized this opportunity, and though Javert hardly got a word in edgewise for the rest of their time, he was satisfied that disaster seemed to have been averted, at least for the moment.

"We need a better story," he told Valjean as they made their way to the gym when they had finished shooting for the day.

"I almost told her the truth," sighed Valjean. "I don't think Lafitte wants to fire me right now. But then I thought, it'll be in all the papers, Cosette will get asked about it, and it doesn't take much for an audience to decide to hate you and your character both, just one bad story..."

"Maybe you should tell Gorbeau." Valjean looked at him like he was crazy, but Javert went on, "It's her job to manage publicity. She might be able to present it to the producers and the public both in a way that will make it less of a problem."

"Or she may announce to the producers that I'm too much of a liability and they should write me off the show."

"Then wait till after they kill off Fantine." Valjean stared at him, but Javert held up a hand to forestall any objections. "They won't get rid of two major characters so close together. If you tell them now, they might kill off you instead of her."

"Madeleine wouldn't let someone else take the fall in his place." Valjean smiled bitterly. "Neither would the priest."

"Madeleine doesn't have a child. You do." Javert was uncomfortably aware that this was not what he would have advised if Valjean had asked him a few weeks ago. Then, he would have insisted that Valjean had an obligation to be honest and scoffed that this was proof men like Valjean could never change. "I'm not suggesting that you lie."

"I never should have taken this role any more than Madeleine should have let himself become mayor. It's too public." By then they had reached the locker room, where some of the other men were being none too subtle glancing in their direction, a fact that was not lost on Valjean. "We'll talk about it later."

Javert still wasn't comfortable in the executive gym, but he was in better shape than most of the people there, even the stars of bigger shows, even if he hadn't been blessed with the cheekbones and chins that defined most of the leading men. It gave him an absurd sense of pride to realize that among the handsome, fit, educated, wealthy men discreetly checking Valjean out at the gym, he was the one Valjean wanted to take home. 

Though he was a bit concerned that Cosette would resent his cutting into what time she had with Valjean, she greeted Javert just as warmly as she did her Papa, launching into a description of a report she'd given on a book about the life cycle of stars that lasted until Toussaint had dinner on the table. Several of Cosette's classmates had seen the zoo photo on the news, which had made her briefly popular, though Javert got the sense that she was too introverted and bookish to be very social. 

_The Forlorn_ was on that night, though it was a rerun from several weeks past -- one of Valjean's first episodes on the show, before Javert was speaking to him in anything more than monosyllables unless he had to. Watching it now, Javert could see that Valjean had been playing at subtext before they had ever discussed it. He could see, too, that his own performance unwittingly contributed to the narrative Valjean had suggested, for when they were on screen together, he rarely took his eyes off Valjean, and what Javert had intended as suspicion and fury hinted instead at fascination and possessiveness.

At the end of the episode, instead of showing a preview of the next week's episode, the producers had opted to put together a montage of scenes from later in the season, including the confrontation in which Inspector Guerriere had cornered Madeleine. It looked as though the Inspector wasn't sure if he wanted to arrest the mayor or kiss him.

"We are pretty hot," Valjean said smugly, winking at him.

"Does Madeleine end up living with him instead of with Fantine?" asked Cosette, gesturing at Javert.

"Even nowadays, mayors don't get to fall in love with other men," snorted Valjean. "Not on television at least. Now go get ready for bed. You're not supposed to watch shows with fallen women, anyway."

Cosette put up a token protest but did as she was told, kissing Valjean goodnight and waving to Javert before heading off to her room. As she did, Valjean grinned at Javert. "We shouldn't make it a late night, since we have to work tomorrow. Want a beer?"

"Not particularly." There was only one thing Javert wanted, and he didn't want alcohol to blunt his desire for it. They watched the major headlines and a few minutes of sports coverage before Javert made a brusque gesture with his head in the direction in which Cosette had disappeared. "How soon will she be asleep?"

"Not right away, but let me take you to your room so that tomorrow morning it will look like someone slept there." Chuckling, Valjean gestured Javert down the hall. "Anyway, I thought you might want some time to yourself -- check your phone, brush your teeth, whatever." He showed Javert into a small, slightly cluttered guest room that it was clear Valjean and Cosette both used to store books and sports equipment. "I'm next door. Come in when you need to ask where anything is. No need to knock."

Then he left Javert alone. Hearing Valjean knock on Cosette's door down the hall to say goodnight, Javert decided to do as suggested: he checked his phone, which had a reminder from his dentist that his six-month cleaning was approaching, set out his personal articles, tugged down the bedcovers to suggest that someone had actually slept in the bed, and went to brush his teeth. He tried not to think of activities that might cause him to need to brush them again later, lest he should get an erection before even setting foot in Valjean's bedroom. From the hallway he could hear Valjean tell Cosette to go to sleep and click her door shut, then walk to his own room. There was no second click to indicate that Valjean had closed his own door.

Forcing himself to wait for a few endless minutes lest he should seem too eager, Javert peered out into the hall, feeling ridiculous. It wasn't as if they didn't both know why Valjean had invited Javert to stay over. He straightened his shoulders and headed across the hall, tapping lightly on the barely open door.

"Come in." Valjean was sitting on the bed with the covers folded down, holding a book that he tossed aside, wearing a t-shirt, shorts, and a hopeful look. Javert felt his knees wobble as he stepped in, shutting the door behind him and turning the lock. "You don't have to do that," added Valjean, getting to his feet and coming over to where Javert stood. "No one would come in without knocking."

The proximity made Javert lightheaded. He couldn't help gazing at Valjean's bare arms as he said, "You never know. There could be an emergency."

"If the house were on fire, no one else would be worrying about why you were in my room. But you really don't need to worry." Valjean smiled reassuringly. "Cosette never came into my room when she was younger and had bad dreams -- she always called out for me."

This close, able to feel Valjean's warmth and smell the soap with which he'd washed, Javert relaxed enough to return the smile. "I'll try not to set the place on fire."

Grinning, Valjean slid his arms around Javert's waist, not too tightly, as if he still weren't completely sure of his welcome. "You're hot enough that you could." 

"You don't have to flatter me." Javert tried not to allow himself to feel too pleased. "I'm in your bedroom. It isn't as though I came over for a nightcap."

"I wouldn't mind if you did. If you just wanted to talk. Or sleep. I'd very happy waking up next to you even if we didn't -- " Valjean's hips wriggled a bit.

"You _would_ suggest talking." Yet Javert believed him, and somehow this was reassuring. He brushed his mouth across Valjean's, a reminder of Valjean's suggested method for shutting him up, and Valjean giggled into the kiss. "I don't want to talk. Or sleep." A more obvious wriggle let Javert feel Valjean's cock through his shorts. It wasn't fully hard yet, but it definitely wasn't asleep. "You know what I want to do."

Valjean's breath hitched as Javert pressed against him, sliding his hands down Valjean's back to cup Valjean's ass in both hands, letting Valjean feel through their clothes that Javert's cock was awake as well. "I think you know I want that, too." With a smile against his mouth, Valjean urged Javert toward the bed. Feeling suddenly hot in his clothes, Javert tried to move a hand between them to tug off his shirt, and Valjean stepped back a bit to help him, sliding hands over his chest, making no effort to hide his admiration, which again made Javert feel both pleased and a bit embarrassed -- unusual for him in sexual situations, where his physique was either a point of pride to lure the man he'd chosen or largely irrelevant since he didn't intend to see the man again.

"Don't you want to--" He made a gesture toward the light.

"If you want." Valjean shrugged a bit, still smiling. "Though I'm happy to look at you. I want you to be comfortable here." Grabbing the hem of his own shirt, Valjean tugged it over his head, tossing it onto a chair with the accuracy of a basketball player. Javert was too gratified by the sight of his bare chest to protest further, throwing his own shirt in the same direction, though it barely caught one arm of the chair. It was a novelty to feel at ease in the strange room, and the light gave him the added bonus of being able to look at Valjean.

Grunting as he shrugged, Javert muttered, "I am comfortable." He had kicked off his shoes in the guest room, afraid of making too much noise walking on the uncarpeted hallway floor, and now he fumbled with his trousers as if to prove the point.

Valjean had hooked his thumbs in his shorts and now he pushed them down, tugging the waistband to stretch over his erection, stepping out of them and leaving them where they fell. He was not in the least embarrassed about being hard. "You've always looked good to me. You look even better naked. I like rough-around-the-edges."

This made Javert's head snap up as he kicked away his trousers. "I'm not sure how to take that."

"Take it as a compliment." Stepping close, Valjean planted a kiss on his jaw. "You look --" A sudden high-pitched giggle made Javert's eyebrows shoot up. "Rugged. Manly. Not like you've ever tap danced."

Snorting, Javert grabbed Valjean around the waist. "I have two left feet."

He tried to press closer, but Valjean was leaning back to look at Javert's feet even as his hands were sliding down to wrap around Javert's ass. "Even your feet are sexy."

Javert knew when he was being teased. "Only someone with a foot fetish would think my feet were sexy. You're not a perv, are you?"

"Not a whips and chains perv." Grinning, Valjean kissed and nibbled along Javert's jaw again. "Though I wouldn't be averse to sucking your toes."

The kisses tickled and aroused and made Javert's brain go foggy. "You can suck on anything you like," he hinted, moving his hands over Valjean's back.

Valjean groaned happily. "Going to hold you to that. Can I put my tongue anywhere I like?"

"If you'll do it already and don't just talk about it." Javert's fingers gave a possessive squeeze around his ass.

"All right, if you insist." Valjean's grin was positively wicked as he threw his weight forward, knocking Javert back on the bed. Javert went sprawling, nearly roaring in protest before he remembered the sleeping household around them.

Instead he grabbed Valjean, tugging him down on top of him. "You did say I was rough around the edges," he muttered before kissing Valjean roughly.

Valjean returned the kiss with gratifying eagerness, sliding his hands all over Javert's sides and ass. "Love that about you," he got out between kisses. "Love having you here, in my bed." His thigh slid between Javert's, rubbing against Javert's cock.

Why did Valjean's touch always put him so close to the edge so quickly? Drawing in a ragged breath, Javert asked, "Do you have something? If we want to --" He made a vague thrusting gesture with one finger against Valjean's back.

Withdrawing one hand, Valjean gestured at the table by the bed. "Yeah. Brand new." Though it was silly -- their pasts were their pasts -- Javert hoped that it was true that Valjean hadn't had a man in his bed since Cosette came to live with him, maybe not even in this same bed. "Tell me what you want."

Javert doubted that it would ever be as easy for him to talk as much as Valjean did. "It's your place," he said gruffly. "What do _you_ want?"

"I want you to like it here." Valjean kissed him again. "And I want to make you come so hard you have to bite the pillow so you don't scream."

"Fuck!" Javert felt his mouth go dry. He kissed Valjean hard to silence his own groan as Valjean hummed in pleasure at this reaction. 

"Will you really let me put my tongue anywhere?"

"Anywhere." Valjean kissed him again on the mouth, then slid down, kissing his jaw, his neck, his chest. Apparently _anywhere_ meant _everywhere_ to Valjean. Javert slid his fingers through Valjean's hair, but Valjean would not be distracted, rubbing his face in the hair on Javert's belly, pressing Javert's legs apart with own between them. He kissed the head of Javert's cock but did not stop to suck it, kissing down the shaft instead.

Groaning, Javert lifted his hips, trying to thrust against Valjean's mouth before he realized that he would not succeed. Valjean's mouth had slid lower, tongue dragging along the inside of his thigh before it licked over his balls. Javert's legs spread more widely without urging, though he didn't usually put himself in such a vulnerable position, and Valjean took advantage of it at once, taking one of Javert's balls into his mouth. 

No one had ever done that to Javert before -- Javert had never met anyone he would have permitted to do that before -- and he let out a helpless cry that he quickly muffled with a hand. The room already smelled like sex, and Valjean was taking his time, very gently releasing one ball to put his mouth on the other. Unlike with any previous partner, Javert realized that he was in no hurry. Also unlike with any previous partner, Javert did not feel that he was doing something furtive and shameful. He had to muffle another wail as Valjean's mouth moved away from his testicles, only to lick behind them.

Did Valjean actually intend to put his tongue... _fuck_! Javert nearly shouted the word out loud, lifting one knee up as he felt Valjean's tongue flick out again. He'd cleaned himself pretty well so he wouldn't stink if Valjean caught a whiff while sucking his cock, but he had never dreamed Valjean would try to put his mouth, oh fuck, "Fuck, Valjean -- I mean Jean --"

He felt rather than heard the hum of delight at his reaction, then he felt Valjean's mouth slide lower, licking over his asshole. Curses burst helplessly from his mouth, hissed so he didn't wake the entire household, though it sounded more like a dog whining for more attention. Valjean chuckled, blowing air over the pucker, then licking it again and again. "Thought you said you liked it better on top," he whispered as if asking Javert's ass instead of Javert.

"I do, but I never thought you'd want to --" He shuddered again mid-babble as Valjean's tongue pressed inside him, and if any part of Javert was considering protesting this delight even in principle, it was silenced when Valjean's fingers brushed over his cock. "Fuck!" he gasped, squeezing his eyes shut, trying not to disgrace himself by coming right then. 

Valjean shifted to get a better angle, pressing his tongue in deeper, humming as if Javert tasted like dessert. To distract himself as much as anything, Javert tried to move his leg to find Valjean's cock, but Valjean slid away. "Let me do this for you." Valjean had not released Javert's cock, which he continued to stroke as he raised his head. "You like this, don't you?"

There was no point in pretending he didn't, not when he was straining toward Valjean's mouth, gesturing at his very erect cock. "Can't you tell?" With a grin, Valjean ducked down between his legs again, returning his tongue to Javert's ass, stroking Javert's cock, and Javert could see Valjean's other hand moving between his own legs. The realization that he was going to get to watch Valjean wank while Valjean got him off nearly sent Javert over the edge again. "Please!"

With a nod, Valjean pushed his tongue deep inside Javert, moving a hand on him and bucking his hips to push his own cock into his own hand. Reaching out, Javert tried to stroke his hair again, careful not to push his head down too hard, though he was feeling urgent. He fumbled mindlessly for the pillow, trying to moan into it, but it blocked his view of Valjean jacking himself off, and not even a fire truck flashing its lights outside the house could have made Javert stop watching that now. Valjean was moaning none too quietly through his nose as he used his tongue and his hand on Javert.

It was all too much. Javert put the pillow over his mouth, bunching it up so he could keep watching though the wave of pleasure that exploded through him blinded him more than the pillow. He felt his cock spurting over Valjean's fingers as his ass tried to clench around Valjean's slippery tongue, Jesus Christ, he hadn't known anything could feel this good. He unclenched his teeth and lowered the pillow just in time to feel Valjean convulse, spattering the bed with come.

"Fuck!" Collapsing bonelessly, Javert shoved the pillow aside, breathing hard. Valjean gave him a messy grin, reclaiming his hand from Javert's cock and wiping it on the sheet before using the heel of his hand to wipe the shine of spit from around his mouth. It took several moments for Javert to recover, too breathless and speechless to say anything coherent, gazing at Valjean. He gestured at the mess on the sheet. "I would have --"

It was gratifying to see Valjean blush for a change. Glancing down at his other sticky hand, Valjean grinned ruefully. "Couldn't wait that long."

"And you accuse me of being impatient."

Valjean laughed louder than Javert would have dared with a sleeping girl down the hall. "Not about everything. I'm not usually so horny. Just with you." He crawled up the bed, sucking a finger clean before reaching for the tissues on the table by the bed where the lube remained unused. "Let me --" Bending, he wiped off Javert's belly.

The tenderness of this gesture made Javert feel unaccustomedly close to him. "That was -- really good."

"I wasn't sure if you wanted it." Valjean was wiping his own mouth off with tissues, smiling at Javert as they came away. He was still flushed.

There was still a sticky spot by Valjean's mouth, which Javert reached to wipe off with a finger. "You know I'm not much for talking the way you do."

Settling beside him, Valjean leaned up on one elbow. "You make very sexy noises."

This made Javert snort, though he was relaxed. Completely relaxed. And happy in a way he hadn't been in -- maybe ever. He felt as though he must be smiling the way he had been in the photo from the zoo. "Roars like a leopard, no doubt. I hope I wasn't too loud."

"And groaning. Enthusiastic groaning." Valjean slid fingers over his chest, chuckling. He kissed the corner of Javert's mouth as if he wasn't certain Javert would want to be kissed by a tongue that was so recently in his ass. Javert wasn't certain either, though he did cup a hand over Valjean's hip. "These walls are pretty thick. Though I'll tell them at breakfast that we stayed up late watching Animal Planet." Valjean giggled, then turned serious. "Does it bother you that Cosette is bound to suspect?"

Javert tried to hide his surprise at the question. While they'd been making each other come, he'd tried very hard not to think about the fact that Valjean had a family, but he supposed that that was something Valjean could never let himself forget no matter what he was doing. The girl was obviously intelligent, but intelligence and maturity didn't always go together. "You don't think she's going to be traumatized?"

It was Valjean's turn to raise his eyebrows in surprise. "Why would she be traumatized?"

"Seeing a big hairy man in the hallway on the way to the bathroom in the morning?"

Valjean burst out laughing. "I have my own bathroom, right over there, which you're welcome to use. And I assume you won't walk around stark naked in front of her, since you weren't even sure you wanted to walk around naked in front of me."

Stroking Valjean's hip, Javert shook his head, not quite looking up. "I could get used to it."

"So could I. I want to get used to it." Valjean leaned down to kiss his forehead, the catch in his breath giving away his hesitation. "I want to get used to having you here. Waking up with you."

"So you said." Javert wondered whether this was some sort of subtle hint that maybe he shouldn't sleep in Valjean's bed this first night. "Do you mean you need time to get used to it?"

"I mean, I want you here." Valjean took a deep breath. "Often. As often as you're willing. Sleep in my bed, or if I'm getting on your nerves sleep in the other room -- I don't mind if you're grouchy. But I'll try to keep you happy. Is that good enough?"

"You aren't getting on my nerves. I wasn't sure what you meant, that's all." Javert knew he sounded gruff and tried to soften it. "I'm rough around the edges, remember?"

Valjean smiled at him, bending to kiss his mouth. He smelled a little funny, but not offensive. "Let me go wash up and shut the lights. You'll sleep in here?"

"If you don't mind that my beard will get scratchy and my eyes will be puffy in the morning. And that I'm a bear before I've had coffee."

"I like that you're a bear." Grinning, Valjean slid off the bed, making a claw. "Toussaint always makes coffee. And I'll see what I can do to improve your mood before we get there." He winked, backing toward the bathroom. "I don't promise to keep my hands to myself all night."

Stretching, Javert watched him. "You'd better keep that pillow handy then."

"Or kiss you quiet, like you're always threatening to do to me." Valjean shut the bathroom door behind him and Javert heard him turn on the sink. He thought about tugging on his clothes and going to wash himself, but he couldn't make himself care that his belly was a bit sticky. When Valjean emerged, he lifted the blankets invitingly.

Smiling, Valjean snapped off the light, sliding in with him. "Do you mind that I like to cuddle?"

"Not really a surprise." Javert snorted, though he could feel himself grinning. "I'm probably not good at it."

Valjean's arms slid around his waist, rolling him so that his back was facing Valjean's front. When Valjean bent his knees, he pushed into the backs of Javert's, curling them up together. Kissing the back of Javert's neck, Valjean whispered, "Is this all right?"

Javert caught Valjean's hand in his own, pulling it against his chest. Relaxing into the embrace, he nodded. "Yeah."

Again Valjean kissed the back of his neck, rubbing his nose through the hair at the base of Javert's skull. "Mmmmm, yeah, we fit so well, it's better than -- I'm talking too much again, aren't I?"

Javert shook his head. His voice was already thick with sleep as he muttered, "You always talk too much."

Laughing quietly, Valjean squeezed around his waist. "I'll say goodnight then." He gave Javert another kiss before whispering, "Goodnight, JV."

So comfortable was Javert, settled in Valjean's arms, that he didn't even mind the sound of his soft laughter as he grunted, "Goodnight, Jean."

When he woke in the night, Valjean was still wrapped around him, though he'd rolled partway onto his belly and his arms were heavy when Javert crawled out from under them to walk to the bathroom. He washed much more carefully than usual, though a glance in the mirror told him that he already needed a shave again and his hair was sticking up on the side on which he'd slept. Well, the lights were out now, and Valjean wasn't likely to see him before morning, anyway.

Except that as soon as he crept back to bed, Valjean's arms circled him once more, and this time Valjean's mouth was awake, brushing kisses over the back of his neck. Other parts of Valjean were stirring too, prodding Javert's ass when Javert pressed back. He had never given much thought to what it would be like to be fucked in the ass, he'd assumed it would make him much too vulnerable and submissive to enjoy anything about it, even if it felt good, even if it wasn't painful and degrading and dangerous. Yet the memory of Valjean's tongue inside him and the feel of Valjean's cock against his skin made him imagine it, rocking back, accepting it when Valjean fit his cock in the space between Javert's ass cheeks and rubbed there, moaning when the smooth sliding shaft brushed past his asshole.

He felt Valjean's nose rub through the hair at the base of his scalp and moaned again, unsure how to proceed, not entirely sure how far he was willing to let this go. Valjean was rocking against him, cock sliding in the furrow created when Javert clenched his ass muscles around it. Fingertips stroked over his chest, brushing a nipple. This felt too good to stop, particularly with Valjean's breath warm against his scalp, inhaling deeply, though Javert knew that he must smell sweaty.

"Do you always wake up horny?" he asked as Valjean squeezed the nipple, drawing out a groan that Javert couldn't muffle.

Valjean's head shook no, his lips brushing back and forth across the back of Javert's neck. "But you can't expect me not to, in bed with you." He gave a small thrust for emphasis. "Don't you ever wake up horny? What do you do when you wake up horny?"

A soft whine escaped Javert's nose, though he was embarrassed at the sound. "The same thing you do, I imagine." How much to confess? Did he dare tell Valjean how inexperienced he was with what Valjean seemed to be asking, thrusting like this against Javert's ass? Did Javert want so much, so soon? Valjean's hand slid across his belly and he moaned again when it brushed his cock. "There usually isn't anyone --" His lips pressed together before he started babbling and he gave a thrust back, less tentative than he intended.

The sound Valjean made could only be described as a growl, not the joking kind when they pretended to be snow leopards but a hungry animal sound. He licked the back of Javert's neck. "Wouldn't it be nice if when you woke up horny, you had someone there to give you what you needed?"

"I suppose you know what I need?" asked Javert, the demand undercut by the hitch in his voice as Valjean's hand slid up and down his cock.

"You could tell me." Valjean's other hand wriggled beneath his side and around him, cupping his balls. Instinctively Javert bent up one knee, pushing back on Valjean, who moaned softly, twitching against his ass. "I would give you anything."

Javert hesitated for only a moment before plunging forward. "What if I asked you to give me something I've never had?"

The fingers on his cock hesitated for only an instant before they went back to stroking, though Valjean's voice was a bit unsteady as he replied, "Then I'd give it to you. Anything you want." Glancing over his shoulder, Javert was grateful for the dimness when Valjean leaned up to brush his mouth over Javert's. "There's no hurry if you don't want it tonight. I want it to be perfect when we do."

Turning, Javert grabbed at Valjean's face before backing off a bit, thinking he was being too rough. "I want it now. I never thought I would, but I do." He didn't want to explain more than that, not even to himself, but he could feel Valjean hesitating. "You're the only one who ever made me want it."

Valjean's arms slid around his waist as he kissed him, nodding, and Javert was thankful that he didn't ask any questions beyond, "Tell me how you want it."

"I want to be able to see you. Don't want it from the back, the first time."

"It's dark in here. And it might be more comfortable from the back." There was a smile in Valjean's voice. "Though you're pretty flexible. I can't stop watching you in the gym." Wriggling in pleasure, he squeezed Javert's ass.

Javert flushed at once. "You're more cut than I am." He was not going to be distracted by flattery. "I still want it from the front. If it hurts, I'll turn around."

"If it hurts, we'll stop. May I get you ready?" Nodding, Javert slid back, punching a pillow to put it at a better angle behind his head, spreading his legs. He could hear Valjean opening the drawer that held the lube and presumably the condoms. Javert thought about mentioning the fact that he hadn't been with anyone since long before the required studio physical, so if it was true that Valjean hadn't been with anyone in as long as Valjean had claimed, since presumably Valjean had had to have the same check-up, the condoms weren't really necessary, but that was probably a conversation best saved for another time. "Tell me if you don't like anything," Valjean murmured.

"I'm the rough around the edges type, not the silent type," muttered Javert, brushing a foot against him.

"You're not always very communicative when I can't see you scowl." Valjean's soft laugh did not disguise the squelch of lube in his hand. "This is a nice change."

"You caught me in the middle of the night," Javert said gruffly as if that explained it, rather than as if in response to the slick finger that was rubbing behind his balls. He spread his knees apart.

"You let me snuggle," Valjean reminded him. "Though I wasn't even sure you'd agree to come here tonight. I never know what to expect with you." 

A fingertip teased his asshole, slowly nudging inside. It was nothing Javert had never done himself, yet he couldn't help tensing against the intrusion until he felt Valjean pause, waiting for him to respond. Then he pressed down, taking more of the finger in. "You haven't exactly made it a secret what you want," he sputtered as the finger crooked, massaging his prostate. Pleasure threaded up Javert's spine, and he let out a moan.

Valjean moaned too, massaging the puckered skin around the opening with his thumb, slowly pressing in a second finger. "I never tried to hide that I want you. But if you think it was all a plot to get you to spread your legs for me, you're not looking at the whole picture."

"I'm not the naive type either. If I'd turned around and started sucking you off, we'd be doing that instead of this." Javert tried to stare at him in the dimness. "This is what I want."

He felt Valjean's chuckle vibrate the fingers inside him. "That's not what I meant. I didn't only want to get you into bed. I know you could have resisted if you wanted...you resisted everything about me for a long time." For a moment the fingers stretched Javert uncomfortably, then they crooked and pressed deep, and he had to muffle a cry. "I'm not hurting you?"

Breathlessly Javert shook his head, his tongue loosening as easily as his ass. "I've, you know, played around down there myself."

The dark shape bending over him leaned to brush a kiss over his mouth before the fingers slid free as Valjean reached for the lube again. "But you never tried it with anyone else?"

"No. Never even imagined it." He heard Valjean curse as the condom slid out of his slippery fingers and caught it, ripping open the packet, though his own fingers were trembling. Leaning over, he slid it onto Valjean's cock, bending to kiss the tip before falling back against the pillow.

Valjean moved a slick hand over his own cock, spreading the lube. It was hard to tell in the dark, but Javert thought he was trembling too. "You aren't going to tell me -- why me?"

"Maybe I don't know." Javert was trying to figure out where to put his legs when he felt Valjean slide an arm beneath his thigh, urging his leg up over Valjean's shoulder. "Feels good with you. Despite the fact that you talk too much."

"I think secretly you like that I talk too much." Valjean's chuckle was strained as he pressed his cock against Javert, holding still until Javert realized that Valjean intended for him to signal that he was ready. He lifted up, nodding, feeling the blunt head trying to stretch him open, and just when he was certain that it wasn't going to fit, Valjean pushed down, propelling his cock inside Javert. "God!"

It felt enormous, not painful so much as fearsome, capable of ripping Javert open. Grunting hard, he took several deep breaths. "Give me a sec --" He could feel Valjean's arms quivering with the effort of holding back, which was somehow more arousing than the cock intruding, oh fuck, in his ass. "Okay," he panted, moving his hips experimentally, hearing Valjean make a choked noise as the cock slid in deeper, the angle more comfortable. "You can move."

"You sure?" Moaning, Valjean let himself slide in a bit more. His entire body was quaking with the effort to restrain himself.

Nodding, Javert realized that it was true -- it burned, but it fit, like his ass had always been meant to fit a cock inside it. This cock. "Wanted to remember how this feels," he said, half to himself, hearing Valjean moan helplessly again.

"JV, if you're going to say things like that..." Valjean shuddered, thrusting shallowly, though moving in a bit more each time. "Going to tell you things too!"

Of course Valjean wouldn't shut up even in the middle of fucking him. Javert clung to him, angling his own aching cock against him as he moved. "Tell me with your cock," he demanded, concentrating a moment to squeeze his inner muscles around Valjean.

Crying out, Valjean bucked and shoved himself in hard. "God! No control if you do that!" His hand fumbled between them, wrapping around Javert's cock. The thrusts were deep and steady, and Javert had to concentrate on grunting instead of crying out with each one as Valjean's hand moved relentlessly on him. "Can't hold my tongue and make love to you at the same time!" Javert pushed up mindlessly, wailing, forgetting the other people sleeping in the house. "Tell me -- if too much --"

Not trusting himself to speak without wailing again, Javert shook his head, hoping he could be seen in the darkness. "Fuck -- Jean -- " In place of words, he tried to thrust into Valjean's hand as Valjean panted above him.

"Love this, oh God, love --" Javert barely heard him, he was arching off the bed, trying to hold on by digging his fingers into the sheets, no, into Valjean's shoulder, that was what he was gripping, but it wasn't enough to stop him the rush of pleasure that shot through his body and out of his cock. He felt Valjean shudder violently, then slam into him. "God, thank -- " Valjean's cry could have woken the dead. Even after Javert could breathe again, he couldn't speak, holding on to Valjean, who was braced on his elbows so he wouldn't collapse on top of Javert. "Oh, love, beautiful!"

Slowly Valjean's words began to sink in. Javert buried his face against him, digging his fingers into Valjean's back. "No, you. That was --" Still he had no words.

He felt Valjean brush a breathless kiss over his cheek. "Was it all right?"

"Knew I was waiting for..." No, that wasn't what he had meant to say either, and he felt his face heating.

Valjean's head lifted so that he could kiss Javert properly. "I'm -- honored is the wrong word," Valjean tried, still breathless. "I'm happier than that." When Javert shifted experimentally, more comfortable now that Valjean's cock was no longer rock hard, Valjean reached down to hold the condom in place, sliding out of Javert before it could slide off. "It was so good, better than good."

"It was fucking perfect," agreed Javert as Valjean leaned down to kiss him again, still breathless, fumbling with the condom, trying to tie the end.

"Your ass is perfect, all of you is perfect, I love -- this --"

Of course Valjean was a talker after as well as during; Javert had already had hints of it the night before. He noticed Valjean stumbling over the words, believing they were both too breathless and heady with sex for proper conversation. "My ass is only perfect with you in it," he said, grinning a bit, the declaration coming more easily than he would have imagined.

Chuckling, Valjean flung the condom aside. "All of you looks pretty perfect to me. Always did."

"Not always, I'll bet." But when Valjean buried his face against Javert's shoulder, holding on to him, Javert decided it was best to leave the past in the past. "I'm not as good looking as you. Just ask our producers."

"Yes you are." Valjean kissed the shoulder. "It's a different look -- more gruff, I want to say more macho." Again he laughed softly. "Rough around the edges."

Javert couldn't help chuckling at this, pent-up emotion seeking release. "You like rough around the edges, he accused, and Valjean nodded fervently, squeezing him, kissing him again and again. 

"I love rough around the edges."

Javert's breath caught. He could think of nothing equivalent to say. "I guess I don't mind that you talk too much," he allowed.

Valjean's giggle was high-pitched, full of nervous energy. "And I don't mind if you're grouchy. I love grouchy, too."

"I'm not grouchy now." Javert stroked through the other man's hair, gazing intently at him in the darkness. 

"I never want to stop." Valjean was looking back at him with equal intensity. "I meant what I said...as often as you want. You could be here every night, I would love it."

Once again Javert felt his chest tighten. "You don't think we're moving too fast?" he asked. "You have a family. I don't want you to make offers you'll regret later." He realized that his fingers had clenched, and loosened them, stroking the side of Valjean's face.

Warm lips nuzzled his palm. "I want you in my home. Not just my bed -- at dinner and watching TV and helping Cosette with her homework, if you want all that. I will never regret anything except not having you, if that's not what you want."

As Valjean spoke, Javert let out a little moan. "You make me believe it's possible." He could feel Valjean smiling as he kissed him, and the nameless tension that had started to dissolve when he'd confessed that he had never let anyone fuck him before melted away. "I've never let myself get attached to things I wanted. Nothing has ever lasted for me."

Valjean's chuckle had turned wry. "I had the impression maybe you never found anything you wanted to last." He hummed softly, playing with Javert's hair. "I'm afraid you're not expecting this to last."

Javert knew that he had already said too much. Telling Valjean that they had already been together for longer than any of his previous encounters had lasted would probably make him sound pathetic. "Do I look like I'm ready to run screaming for the door?" he asked.

"Not sure." Valjean rubbed his grin against Javert's cheek so Javert couldn't miss it. "It's pretty dark in here. Maybe you're stuck here because you can't see the door."

Javert's fingers found their way to Valjean's ass and pinched playfully. "It's not that dark. Maybe I'm stuck here because I don't want to be somewhere else."

Just as quickly, Valjean turned serious again, burrowing into Javert's arms. "I don't want you to be anywhere else. I want you to stay here and let me talk too much and feed you and hold you and make lo-- um, to fuck you. I will do whatever I can to make this work." He shivered softly. "Will you give me that much?"

"I'm still here, aren't I?" Javert had intended to sound grouchy, but his voice came out throaty instead.

Valjean was clinging shamelessly, kissing his neck. He murmured what sounded like "Yes, love," into Javert's skin.

Javert decided to let this pass. It was just an expression, and Valjean used the word "love" a lot right after sex. "Not going anywhere," he said, face pressed against Valjean as if he were too sleepy to raise his head. He let his eyes close, liking that Valjean was the last thing he would see before falling back asleep.


	7. Chapter 7

Mornings were less unpleasant than Javert had anticipated. The first one was rushed and awkward, since they'd spent half the night not sleeping, but Cosette hardly blinked when Valjean explained that Javert had stayed over in the guest room and Toussaint kept out of their way. Fortunately, Javert had late morning calls the rest of the week, so he caught up on sleep and worked out his tensions in the gym, feeling strange when he went home alone on the evening when Valjean had to remain to film an outdoor night scene. He took Cosette to school one morning while Valjean was on the set.

Evenings were quite pleasant, though Javert was frequently enlisted to help Cosette with her homework, even subjects like geometry at which his interest exceeded his skills. And nights were unlike anything he had ever imagined. Valjean was a passionate and inventive lover, often playful, always enthusiastic, who true to his word didn't take it personally when Javert was grouchy or irritable or couldn't leave annoyances about the show on the lot. It did not take long for rumors to start -- the photos from the zoo would have guaranteed that even if they had otherwise avoided one another -- but the teasing was mostly good-natured.

At least, it seemed so, even to a usually cautious, pessimistic Javert, until the morning he stepped outside in running clothes to retrieve the paper, with Cosette chattering behind him, and saw light reflecting off something behind the bushes across the street. Fucking photographers -- the paparazzi were bad enough, and now, with cell phones, everyone took pictures of the homes of celebrity neighbors. Javert was glad at first that it was himself and not Valjean who'd been outside, since Valjean might have chased the guy and smashed his camera in the name of protecting Cosette, but then Javert realized what it would mean if photos of himself coming out of Valjean's front door at that hour made it onto the internet. And then into grocery store tabloids.

"There was an asshole out there with a camera," he told Valjean, still slightly nervous that Valjean would take off after whoever it had been.

"Language," Valjean admonished mildly, gesturing in Cosette's direction. "I don't think a picture of you in running shoes is going to get us into trouble -- if anyone asks, we'll tell them we went running to stay in shape for the show. The producers know we work out together; they see us often enough at the gym."

There were no questions that week, though Javert remained concerned enough to take a different route to Valjean's home on the nights he stayed there...five out of seven, plus one night in Valjean's trailer on the lot when they both had to stay late to reshoot a scene, and another night with Valjean in his bed after interrupting dinner to straddle Javert's thighs and ride his cock in a kitchen chair. Because Javert refused to misbehave during filming times even if neither of them was due on the set for hours, Valjean rarely let a morning or evening go by without interrupting Javert in the shower or sitting him down on the closed toilet seat and sucking him off.

Javert had never had a lover who was so skilled, or so generous, or maybe it was simply that he'd never had a lover whom he'd let stick around for long enough to learn what he liked. He'd certainly never imagined that he would like sex in the kitchen while the chicken got cold, let alone being cuddled afterward in his own bed with Valjean sleepily murmuring things that a few weeks earlier Javert would have deemed stupid cliches.

He saw no reason to be concerned on the morning Lafitte strode into the makeup trailer with Gorbeau and demanded to speak to them alone, expecting that they were going to be asked to make yet another promotional appearance. Sidonie winked and made a claw at them as she walked out, but the publicist did not laugh. Iron-faced, she unrolled a gossip magazine to show them a photo of the three of them -- Valjean, Cosette, Javert -- standing outside Valjean's front door, with Javert holding Cosette's backpack while Valjean straightened the collar of the shirt required of the girls on assembly days. He and Valjean were both in jeans and sneakers, likely on the way to the lot; he and Cosette were both looking at Valjean, laughing at something he had said. 

"You look very domestic," Gorbeau observed dryly, flipping the page, showing himself and Valjean on what was evidently a different day, wearing running clothes, jogging up the sidewalk in front of the house, engrossed in conversation, and then in the same clothes, leaning against the car, just Javert and Cosette, peering into a book together. **Frenemies Get Cozy** , read the headline.

Shrugging, Valjean gestured at Javert. "He's staying with me while his kitchen is being redone."

"Is that the story?" asked Lafitte. "This show cannot afford a scandal..."

"How is it a scandal? If --" began Valjean in a tone that Javert knew too well. He jumped in quickly.

"There is no story. As Valjean said, I stayed at his place while I was having repairs done at mine."

"You could both mention that on your Twitter accounts. Make light of the story. Do you have before-and-after photos of the sink that you could upload?"

"My place is still a mess."

"From what he tells me, it needs a lot of work and his landlord's a lazy piece of shit," Valjean cut in, glancing at Javert. "I keep telling him to move out and rent my extra room. It would save us both some money."

Lafitte and Gorbeau exchanged a glance. "If you're willing to consider more discreet living arrangements, the studio can arrange..." the producer started to say, shuffling his feet.

"I'm not uprooting my daughter in the middle of the school year." The dangerous tone had returned to Valjean's voice. "Where we live is our own business."

Technically, that was only half-true. Though Javert didn't think any studio could get away with firing an actor for being gay, there were harassment guidelines they'd all had to sign which forbade soliciting sex from co-workers, and Gorbeau was probably clever enough to spin a consensual relationship into something sordid if a scandal erupted. Javert had an ugly metallic taste at the back of his mouth and his stomach was churning. He hadn't let himself think about how much being with Valjean mattered to him until it was threatened. "Isn't it your job as the publicist to take care of statements on Twitter, and to file a complaint about photographers invading our privacy?" he demanded, taking a step forward.

It was gratifying as well as disturbing to see both Gorbeau and Lafitte shrink back the way the characters on the show did when faced with the Inspector's wrath. "If we complain, people will assume that it's because the rumors are true," the publicist said.

"I've tried very hard to keep Cosette out of the papers -- she's a child, she's entitled to privacy. So don't give me this nonsense about rumors. You tell them that if they interfere with my daughter..."

"I hardly think your daughter is the focus of their interest," muttered Lafitte. 

"Listen, we have done everything you asked. We've done the weekend charity sports teams, we've given up our lunches to do interviews, we've posed for pictures after wrapping for the day. We bust our backsides on the set and we don't complain," insisted Valjean.

Lafitte glanced at Gorbeau, who nodded, no doubt aware that nearly everyone found Fantine difficult to work with, while Valjean was popular with the crew. "I don't think you've been threatening Batambois about his ex-wife telling the tabloids he has a thing for call girls," Javert put in. He wasn't entirely sure he had that story straight -- he'd overheard the costumers gossiping -- but from Lafitte's frown and Gorbeau's sigh, he knew he was close. "We don't want stories like that --" He gestured at the paper the publicist was still holding. "-- any more than you do."

"Then we have the same goal in mind. We're only asking that you be careful," Gorbeau said. "I still think it's in your best interest to say something. Tweet a complaint about reporters taking pictures of your daughter if you want, but joke about the spin this article is putting on the two of you. It may deflect attention."

"Or it may make them try harder to catch us doing something more incriminating," Valjean shot back, then paused as the implication of those words sank in. "Fine. We'll come up with another wild cat joke. Meanwhile, will you ask these vultures to leave my daughter and our house alone?"

"I can ask, but I can't make any promises if you don't give them something else they believe is worth writing about." Valjean looked furious, but Javert knew that she was right. The papers might ignore facts if they were fed a steady stream of material that promised to keep luring readers, but they had to believe that the long-term goal was worthwhile. "I know you're not fond of Fantine, but it wouldn't hurt if one of you walked her to her car once or twice. I can only play up the big happy cast story if it looks like we have a big happy cast."

"She isn't our biggest fan. She's heard that you're going to axe her at the end of the season, and she isn't happy..." Frowning, Valjean pointed to Lafitte, his voice slowing as he had an idea. "But suppose you didn't."

"Suppose I didn't...?" asked Lafitte, clearly having no idea what Valjean was talking about.

"The original story jumps a decade into the future. Since this season's storylines wrap up the present timeline, I'm guessing you have the jump in mind for next season. It's why the actors are all antsy, in case you haven't noticed. You probably need the two of us, Pontmercy, Fauchelevent, Thenardier, and Gillenormand -- anyone else could be dropped." Lafitte's brows drew together but he did not deny this. "Fantine looks a lot younger than she is. She could play her own daughter as a young woman."

Gorbeau and Lafitte exchanged a glance. "You said yourself that she isn't your biggest fan," the former pointed out.

"She isn't, but if you tell her that it was our idea, that might change," Valjean pointed out. "She knows you're shifting her story to the side, so of course she's not happy. If you suggest that she's invaluable to the show..."

"...her agent will demand a significant raise," muttered Lafitte.

"She did get a People's Choice nomination. It'll make it easier to launch next season if viewers know she's coming back." Javert could see that Gorbeau agreed with Valjean, so he kept his focus on her. "It will also give the news something to cover besides our personal lives. We'll be able to offer exclusive interviews." 

Gorbeau shook her head, giving him the only real smile he'd ever received from her. "You should be a producer."

"Don't give him ideas," Lafitte told her, but he was smiling too. "I'll talk to the writing staff. They hadn't planned to start so far ahead in the timeline."

"How many episodes can they do about Madeleine and a little girl hiding in a convent?" put in Valjean. "That would all work in flashback, so we can jump right into the action -- the student revolutionaries and the inspector closing in on Madeleine." 

"They should both be producers," Gorbeau told Lafitte. "They're good ideas. But you two still need to be careful. You know what this business is like -- I don't have to tell you the consequences for your careers as well as for the show if the gossip turns ugly."

Internally, Javert seethed at the thought that the most beautiful thing in his life could be deemed ugly by Gorbeau or a magazine or anyone on the internet. But he forced himself to nod. "We _are_ careful."

Still, he was off-balance all afternoon, blowing one line over and over, which was so unusual that the P.A. made a poster with the words written in fat turquoise letters during a break in shooting and held it up when they did another take, prompting laughter from everyone on the set and making it easy for Javert to play the fearsome inspector's fury. When they finally finished, Valjean followed him to his trailer.

"Don't let Gorbeau get to you. They're just trying to cover their own asses."

"I know that," Javert told him irritably.

"Then what?" When Javert didn't answer, Valjean grabbed his wrist. "It's not a reason to --"

"You told them you thought I should move in with you," Javert interrupted him, slamming the trailer door behind them.

Valjean's mouth opened and closed again. "If that was out of line..." he began, then swallowed and shook his head. "I want you to move in with me."

Javert started to say something, but Valjean held up his other hand, the fingers that were holding Javert's wrist stroking his skin. He wondered if Valjean could feel his pulse leap. 

"Don't make me use the 'you practically live there anyway' argument," Valjean added. Again Javert opened his mouth, but only looked at the spot where Valjean's thumb was rubbing his wrist. "I know you..." Valjean was looking at his thumb too, that tiny place of contact. "Know you need your space, and that sometimes I'm a moron, and you need to get away for awhile. I get that. And I know asking you to take on a man with a kid is a hell of a lot."

"Jean --" Javert finally got out, only to have Valjean rush to fill the tiny pause.

"Cosette would love to have you around, even Toussaint would love to keep cooking for you -- you eat that stew she makes out of God knows what --" Valjean was talking faster. His fingers clenched Javert's wrist as if clinging to a rope that might be yanked away and leave him dangling, but he loosened his grip at once. "We all love..." They stared at each other for a long moment, until even Valjean couldn't get past the freighted silence. "You have to know I love you," he blurted out at last, looking a little desperate.

"How would I know that?" Javert demanded, irritated that his voice still sounded irritated. At least it wasn't shaking. He knew full well that Valjean had never said those words to him before and he was pretty sure Valjean knew it too.

"I've said it, haven't I? Or almost. How could you not know?" Valjean said, and this time his words weren't rushed.

"Sure you aren't falling for your own subtext?" Javert asked, because he wanted this to be real and he knew that, in the world of playacting, sometimes it was hard to tell the difference.

"I fell for you a long time ago," admitted Valjean, creeping into Javert's arms just the way he'd crept into Javert's world. "And I think you fell for me, though you're too much of a hard-ass to admit it."

"You don't think I can tell you I love you?" Javert had tried to imagine saying it, but he'd never been able to figure out what moment or what place would make him feel that it was the right one for those words. He'd hoped Valjean would just blurt it out in bed sometime, the way Valjean was prone to babble after sex about loving his cock or his hands or the way he smelled; he'd thought he might be able to say it while sleepy and sated without Valjean having to overanalyze it. He had certainly never imagined saying it standing in his trailer while they were still in costume. 

Valjean's gaze had dropped, though he still had his arms around Javert and was holding on like he didn't intend to let go. "I think you can do anything you want," he murmured to Javert. "I'm just not sure you will. I'm never sure you look at me without seeing who I used to be, and how much that gets in the way of how you feel about me, even how you feel about yourself with..."

As usual, Valjean was talking too much. Javert shut him up the only reliable way, by kissing him, muffling the last syllables of whatever he was going to say. "You've changed," Javert said when they finally broke apart, and then, because he thought it needed saying, "I've changed. You must know I love you t--"

Valjean did not let him finish, kissing Javert again. "I didn't know if you'd ever say that to me," he whispered, and then, to Javert's simultaneous pleasure and mortification, he wiped his eyes. "I'm going to cry."

"Don't you fucking dare." At this, Valjean let out a high-pitched half-sob, half-giggle, flinging his arms back around Javert, who added, "You can't expect me to move in with someone who's going to snivel if I slip up and say something soppy."

"No sniveling. I swear." Sniffling, Valjean buried his face against Javert's shoulder. "Only the occasional bout of soppiness."

"You're soppy every time you get your cock sucked." Yet Javert could feel himself smiling, glad that Valjean was too busy hiding his own face to accuse Javert of being just as soppy. "About moving in. I'd have a couple of conditions."

"Anything. You can redo the living room in all black if you want. Just let Cosette keep her dollhouse in the corner -- it's too big for her bedroom."

Javert had so few personal possessions to which he had any attachment that he had never given much thought to how he would prefer to arrange them. Apart from his armchair, which he'd known would be used for reading and studying scripts, he'd spent little time or money on furniture or decorations. "The guest room backs up to your room, doesn't it? I want to put in a door so I can get in and out without going into the hall. And so I can share your bathroom, not Cosette's."

"Done. What else?"

"No one, not even you, comes in without knocking."

"Fine. I hope you're planning to spend most nights sleeping with me, though."

"I already do." Javert paused. He wasn't sure how to phrase the most important thing. "My lease isn't up for another three months. It's yearly, so I only have to give a month's notice." He took a breath. "In two months, I think we should sit down and talk about whether it's working."

Valjean pulled back. "If you're going into this thinking it's not going to work..."

"I'm not. But I've never lived with anyone, and no matter what you told Lafitte, we're not talking about renting a room. If it's really not working, you should be able to tell me so, for Cosette's sake as well as your own. If I'm going to fuck everything up being around you 24/7, I'd rather keep my own place and see if it's true that absence makes the heart grow fonder."

Though Valjean was frowning, he nodded. "All right. If you decide you hate living in such close quarters, we'll figure out how to change things. If they pick up my contract, I can afford a bigger house. But I don't want Cosette to feel rejected, or like she came between us. If you want things changed, don't save it all up so in two months you can declare that it isn't working -- tell me what isn't working right away and we'll all see what we can do to fix it."

They were both swaying on the edge of something important though Javert had put out a safety net they could both count on. "Done," he said, "though you're fairly warned I'm a miserable prick sometimes."

Valjean gave a loud laugh, with traces of his earlier emotions still clinging to it. "You think I haven't noticed that?" He gave Javert a slow up and down look, straightening his own shoulders. "You won't change your mind? You'll really move in with us?"

Javert nodded. He knew Valjean would stick to their agreement and not crowd him with additional demands. They would work out, or if they couldn't, it wouldn't be because they weren't both trying.

"We should seal the deal," Valjean said. Then he grinned.

Javert gave him a disbelieving look. "With what, a handshake?" That grin of Valjean's was sending heat into his bloodstream.

Valjean snorted. "What are we, bankers?" He jerked his head toward the trailer bedroom. "Have I ever told you how hot you look in your uniform?"

"My costume, you mean?" Javert inquired, but he was noticing how hot Valjean looked in his as well. "About a hundred times when you thought no one else could hear you."

"Yeah, but have I ever given you a mind-blowing orgasm while you were wearing it?" Valjean's voice was doing that growling thing he did when he was trying to be sexy, or maybe he was just sexy and didn't realize he was growling, but whatever it was it, gave Javert thrills that prickled under his costume.

He leaned against the door of the trailer. "Mind-blowing?"

"Earth-shattering," Valjean confirmed. He took a step closer, hips pushing against Javert's. "Possibly life-altering."

"You'll have to prove that," Javert told him, letting himself be pressed down onto the tiny trailer sofa, not saying aloud that Valjean, no matter what happened next, had already altered his life in every way. He was still surprised that Valjean liked to look at him in the uniform of the police, no matter how far their mutual pasts had receded in favor of a happier present. Javert couldn't always get away from the idea that one day those pasts would catch up with them.

"I can hear you thinking too much." Valjean paused with his hands on Javert's shoulders, sliding to his knees. "No one's going to find out. I'll be careful not to stain your costume."

"It doesn't matter if anyone finds out, since apparently everyone already knows." Javert's fingers slid through Valjean's hair. "I don't know why I thought I was a good enough actor to hide it. It's not like I ever took those Meisner Center classes that Pontmercy is always bragging about." Javert thought back to the photos in the magazine Gorbeau had shown them. As had happened when he'd first seen the picture of himself and Valjean at the zoo, he had been struck by how happy he looked in the photos, nearly unrecognizable to himself, smiling unselfconsciously as he basked in the warmth that radiated from Valjean.

"You'd be a better actor than Pontmercy with your hands tied behind your back, and better looking too." A naughty look flashed in Valjean's eyes, though he did not look up from his present task, unbuttoning Javert's costume trousers. "I can't wait till we film those scenes where you _do_ have your hands tied behind your back -- I'll have to jack off first so I don't get hard looking at you. Maybe we should rehearse."

Javert groaned. They were probably a full season away from the scenes to which Valjean referred, assuming that the writers stayed close to the source material, but he appreciated Valjean's familiarity with the material and the way their characters sometimes spilled over into their own lives, though that also made him worry that Valjean expected him to be more like the innately righteous character he played and not the man from the gutter he was. 

Then again, Javert could not imagine Madeleine looking up at the inspector with the wicked expression Valjean was wearing now as he shoved Javert's trousers down and let his cock spring free. "As hot as you look buttoned up, you look even hotter half-buttoned-up with a boner," Valjean told him, leaning in to kiss the tip without dropping his gaze from Javert's. "I love how hard you get for me."

A whimper escaped Javert's nose as his cock twitched eagerly against Valjean's lips. "What do you expect when you talk about tying me up and giving me mind-blowing orgasms?" he demanded.

Grinning, Valjean tugged his shirt out of his own costume trousers and started to unfasten them. "I expect you to sit back and let me make you come."

"I hope you're going to leave those trousers on," Javert said, leaning back as directed. "Since you've got me tangled up in mine."

Valjean had shoved his trousers down to his knees. "You aren't tangled up, and you look sexy as hell." He dropped back between Javert's thighs. "What's more, I think you know it. You know how hot you get me," he went on before Javert could protest, though it was hard to think when Valjean was sliding his hands up Javert's thighs like that.

"Maybe you get hot for all the -- oh fuck!" Valjean's form of rebuttal had left speech behind, but it was decidedly still oral.

"Just for you, and you know that too," Valjean said, filling his cheek with Javert's cock so he could talk. He diverted his mouth long enough to rub it over the soft flesh of Javert's balls. "Know what I love?" He dipped his face, sliding his tongue down the seam that separated the balls, wetting it again and continuing on the journey.

"Fuck, Jean..." Javert moaned, trying to move his legs apart but coming up short by the position of the trousers bunched around his knees.

"Yeah, that," Valjean said, obviously satisfied with his reaction. His fingers slid along Javert's thigh, taking up position where his mouth had been, while his lips moved back up Javert's cock. "Anyone would think we hadn't done this just this morning..."

"This isn't what we did this morning," Javert reminded him somewhat breathlessly, clenching and unclenching his fingers restlessly in Valjean's hair. It didn't help to remember what they _had_ done that morning, the bathroom tiles cool under Javert's hands and against his knees but the air full of steam from the shower as Valjean thrust inside him, one hand braced on the wall, the other wrapped around Javert's cock, teeth scraping against Javert's neck when he wasn't sucking on the skin there, careful not to leave a mark that could be seen by the cameras. 

Valjean's mouth was busy sucking now, taking Javert in deeper and deeper as it slid up and down, and his hand was busy too, doing what it had done in the morning to Javert's cock only this time it was stroking Valjean's own instead. Watching Valjean touch himself made Javert completely wild, as much as if not more than watching Valjean touch Javert's cock, and he shuddered, forcing himself to open his fingers before he pulled Valjean's hair. 

"You know I won't last like this," he muttered, bucking into heat that closed tightly around him, Valjean was doing something with his tongue, no, he had the head of Javert's cock practically in his throat and he was swallowing around it, oh fuck that was good! At one time, Javert had prided himself on his ability to make a man come with great efficiency, either before he did so he could get on with the business of his own orgasm or after he did so he could get it over with and get back to his life. He hadn't believed there was such a thing as making love, he'd thought it was just sentimentality. Except that the same things he objectively knew he'd always done were so much better with Valjean, and the things he'd never tried before, the things he hadn't imagined he would ever want, were better still, because he only shared them with Valjean. 

The glorious heat disappeared as Valjean lifted his head to catch his breath, blowing cool air over the head of Javert's cock, making Javert want to scream, except Valjean was speaking and what he was saying was "Love you," before his mouth slid down again.

"You know I fucking--" Javert felt Valjean smiling around his cock as emotion choked Javert's words. His hand was molding Valjean's head and he felt as though each hair was precious to him because it was part of Valjean and oh fuck he had it bad, didn't he, but it was good, so good.

"Fucking what?" prompted Valjean, the words whispered over the glistening wet tip of Javert's cock. Then that smile, the one that Javert had never been able to look away from, even when Valjean had been just another prisoner.

"Love you!" Javert cried out, though he was sure the words were too hoarse to be recognizable because he was thrusting into the heated haven of Valjean's mouth and climax made his voice rough even as it made all the other edges of his body smooth and taut with pleasure.

Valjean held his mouth still, holding him though the jerks Javert's cock needed to come completely, sliding back only slowly, still smiling as though he'd been grinning during the whole blow job. His hand was still around his cock but he relinquished it long enough to scramble to his feet, leaning on Javert's knee for support, the mayor's trousers still bunched around his knees. He started to reach for his cock again but Javert batted his hand away.

"Mine," he growled.

"Oh God, yes," Valjean told him fervently, then shook his head when Javert lowered his mouth to kiss the cock. "No. Not like that. Want you to keep talking."

"Not all of us start babbling after we come," Javert warned him, though the flush of happiness had robbed his voice of any edge; he sounded breathless and content even to his own ears. The hand that he had used to push Valjean's aside wrapped around the stiff cock bobbing in front of him, stroking it, feeling it twitch and throb at this attention. "You can't expect me to say soppy things to you just because you give me mind-blowing orgasms."

"Life-altering," Valjean corrected him, sounding equally breathless. "You wouldn't be using the L word otherwise."

Javert had taken advantage of Valjean's reply to suck the head of his cock again, moving his hand faster on the shaft. He hoped Valjean would attribute his red face to post-ejaculatory physiology and not to embarrassment over how much he loved this, all of it, the thought of living with Valjean, waking up with him every single morning, falling asleep beside him at night, sharing a home and meals and knowing there was someone in the world who could forgive the intensity and single-mindedness and defensiveness about his past that Javert knew would never change.

"Say something," Valjean moaned above him, digging his fingers into Javert's shoulder.

"I like sucking your cock," muttered Javert, because it was true and he wanted to get back to it, but Valjean groaned encouragement, like they were in the kind of porno where people got off being told how big and hard and sexy they were. "I like the noises you make when you fuck my mouth."

"Jesus," Valjean shuddered. Javert caught his eye, lips around his cock, moving his tongue against it, taking it deeper and deeper now that Valjean was rocking his hips like he couldn't help himself. The voice and breathing exercises that Javert had had to teach himself out of books because it was true that he'd never managed to take fucking Meisner Center classes had improved his ability to relax his throat, he bet Valjean's last lover hadn't been able to take so much of that big cock. Sure enough, Valjean gasped.

Smugly, Javert rubbed behind Valjean's balls. "Now come for me," he ordered, plunging his mouth back down.

Valjean was roaring, the sound reverberating through his body, or at least it felt that way to Javert who kept his mouth around Valjean's pumping cock through the first spurt. He held on as the convulsions shook them both.

"You...fuck..." Valjean managed breathlessly as Javert unclenched his mouth and slid it off the still-twitching cock.

"You know what they say, if you can still talk, I must be doing something wr-"

Valjean didn't let Javert finish, swooping down for a kiss that nearly knocked them both over onto the carpet. He was laughing, kicking against the bunched up trousers at their feet. "You know I can't shut up after sex," he said, and Javert tasted the words as he spoke.

"Or during, or before, or while brushing your teeth, or --" He let Valjean cut him off with another kiss that lapped their tongues together for long, breathless moments.

"You love that about me," Valjean replied and Javert wondered if he looked as giddy and satisfied as Valjean did, tossing around the word _love_ without having to treat it like crystal. "I want to tell Cosette," Valjean added, leaving a pause just long enough for Javert to know it was meant for him to fill or to leave. He left it. "We'll put it in a non-forever way so she'll know that it may just be for a while. But I want her to know we decided this."

Javert had been about to argue the opposite, that he could show up, the same way he had a hundred nights before, and just never leave. He wasn't a father but he knew doing this was one of those things families did, and it knocked him so off-balance to think of Valjean and Cosette as his family that he lost the moment he should have been rebutting. Instead he nodded and felt Valjean relax nearly imperceptibly against him. "She's smart, she'll figure it out, whether you tell her or not," he said, rubbing his knees against Valjean's because his ankles were still a hopeless tangle of trousers and passion.

"She's probably wondering what we've been waiting for," said Valjean with a chuckle.

"What have you been waiting for?" Cossette asked, her hands folded across her lap the next night in a deceptively prim pose that only made the roll of her eyes more pronounced when she spoke the words.

"We, uh," Valjean began, looking helplessly toward Javert. He'd looked so confident the day before when they'd been sprawled over the floor of the trailer. They'd waited until after dinner to have what Valjean called a family meeting, and he'd explained that Javert was going to live with them, not just visit from time to time, and that they might both be so bad at it that they were going to try it out, like a science experiment, only of course they wouldn't do it at all if she minded --

He'd babbled on so long that Javert and Cosette had exchanged an understanding glance. She looked at them both, Valjean like an eager puppy, at least to Javert's eyes. "Do you have any conditions?" he asked her.

"Well...Papa, I have two," she said.

Valjean made a sort of noise Javert had never expected to hear, Valjean unable to speak. "Of course," Javert leapt in, wondering whether any biological parent had ever been so nervous.

"I want to call JV Dad," she said to Valjean, "even if he decides he shouldn't live with us."

"It will be obvious to anyone that I'm not your father, or even a blood relative," Javert said, but he could see Cosette open her mouth to object. "Fine. They're your conditions." It was not worth risking a quarrel over one word, no matter how ludicrous the idea might have been. He was about to explain that when they were in public, it would be necessary for her to address him by some other name -- perhaps _uncle_ would be acceptable, even at home -- when Valjean also swiveled to look at him. 

"I'm not sure that's a good..." began Valjean.

"They're _my_ conditions," Cosette cut him off imperiously, and after a moment, Valjean nodded agreement as well. "Second." The girl took a deep breath, looking uneasy now, though she hadn't when she had insisted on addressing Javert as a parental figure. "If anything happens to you, Papa, I still get to live with him."

"Nothing is going to happen to me..." Valjean started to speak again, but Cosette uncharacteristically kicked the chair leg, her twisted fingers betraying her tension.

"I _know_ that, but _if_ something _does_ , my mother is dead and you keep telling me we don't have any other relatives. I'm not going back to the Sergeants! You promised I would never have to!"

"I know I did, sweetheart, and I meant it," Valjean cut in soothingly. "No matter what happens, you never have to see them again."

"But I could end up in an orphanage!" Cosette gestured wildly. "Or, I don't know if there are still orphanages, but with other horrible people, like that social worker who came to my school! I'm not doing that! If I can't live with you, Papa, I want to live with _you_!" She gazed beseechingly at Javert.

"Cosette," he began, then found to his surprise that he had to clear his throat. He had been prepared to tell her all the reasons it was impossible for him to promise what she asked. Regardless of whatever name she wished to call him, he was no family of hers, he had never taken care of a child, he was less familiar with the regulations that governed custody of minors than any other branch of the law, plus he feared that even if Valjean found him to be an acceptable partner, Valjean might not agree that he would make a suitable single parent. What came out of his mouth was, "There's a great deal of bureaucracy involved in establishing a guardianship. It would take time. We would need to speak to a lawyer."

"It isn't something that could be done all at once," Valjean put in so quickly that Javert glanced at him to see whether he was grateful to have been given a reason to say no. Instead Javert found that Valjean was gazing at him with the same pleading look as Cosette...the same look Valjean had given him in character, as the mayor, imploring the inspector to save Fantine's child. Valjean was trying to protect Cosette, Javert realized, from an expected rejection.

"If your Papa agrees, we'll fill out the paperwork, but you must understand that it means you might need to go to court to talk to a judge," Javert said, his voice still sounding strange in his own ears. He had never imagined raising a child. He had never wanted one...he had never loved one. But unlikely as it might have seemed just a few weeks past, he had grown attached to this girl, and she was right: if something were to happen to Valjean, Javert would have no say in her future unless he agreed, now, to start that process. "Do you realize what that would mean? Even if you decide that I'm too strict or too grouchy to be an acceptable parent, you would still have to live with me..."

He did not manage to elaborate because first Cosette and then Valjean threw themselves at him, knocking him out of his chair, so that they all ended up in a pile on the floor and Javert's elbow was smarting. Cosette was crying. He thought Valjean might have been as well. "I understand, I don't care, you can be strict! I'll behave! Just promise!" she wailed.

"I promise," Javert told her, then felt his face grow warm as he was kissed on both sides at once. And just like that, for the first time in his life, he belonged to a family.


	8. Chapter 8

"We should go somewhere."

Javert grunted at Valjean's words, but considering how soundly he'd just been fucked, he was pleased he'd managed even that much.

"Majorca or Tuscany or --" Valjean said, then lowered his brow. "Don't grunt again," he scolded, but he was laughing too, putting two fingers over Javert's mouth. Their bodies were still in a pleasingly tangled snarl of arms and elbows and buttocks, so Valjean had had to wiggle a bit to accomplish this, but that just made it more interesting.

Javert wasn't about to grunt again; he was about to mumble that the only place he wanted to go right now was to sleep. But the image of Valjean in skimpy shorts and not much else, his body warm from the sun, his eyes sparkling in invitation, made Javert purr instead.

"What's that noise?" Valjean asked in alarm, gaze darting automatically toward the door which they were always very scrupulous to lock. "Wait," he continued, looking at Javert, "Was that you?"

Javert nodded, being more interested in kissing one of Valjean's fingers, still pressed against his lips.

"You like that idea?" Another kiss, just a brush of skin against the pad of Valjean's fingertip. "You definitely like that idea," he said, his voice lowering a bit as it did when a strand of the passion that bound them together shimmered to life between them. "I thought I'd have to argue with you about it for days and make love to you until you agreed."

Reluctantly Javert took his mouth from Valjean's finger. "We have the hiatus coming up. Why shouldn't we?" The show would be on break for weeks, and Javert had made no effort to have his agent find a movie to film between seasons that might take him away from Valjean and Cosette. He smirked. "Does that mean you won't make love to me to get me to see things your way?"

Valjean was laughing, uncurling against him, pressing his body closer. "Well, we still haven't figured out where to go," he said, but he didn't seem especially interested in a debate, not when he was kissing Javert like that. "I know -- Paris. We could drive around the country and show Cosette all the places the show is based on. We could even sneak into some of the places the mayor might have snuck off with the inspector."

"You don't actually think that Madeleine..." But Javert was interrupted by Valjean's fingers teasing him, and he forgot what he was going to ask.

Javert still didn't know when to leave certain things alone. Even though things were good, better than they had ever been. Even though the entire crew now called Javert "JV," including Fantine, who had somehow developed the impression that she owed her job for the next season to himself and Valjean. Even though Cosette called him "JV" in public and "Dad-V" in private. Even though Javert had told his previous landlord that he wouldn't be renewing his lease, despite the fact that he and Valjean had never sat down for the formal conversation he had proposed to confirm this.

"You're allowed to leave the country?" he queried now, not stopping to think.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Lifting his head, Valjean furrowed his brows. "Oh -- for fuck's sake. I didn't do time for murder. Are you ever going to look at me and not see a criminal?"

Instantly Javert knew that he had once again destroyed what had been an intimate moment. "I only wanted to make sure there wouldn't be trouble at the airport," he said apologetically. "Or with Cosette." 

He and Valjean had discovered that, since Cosette's mother was deceased and her father an unknown patron who had abandoned her, it was a relatively uncomplicated matter for Valjean to name Javert the girl's legal guardian should something happen to Valjean. Along with Cosette, Valjean had already written documents explaining why Javert's moral character and close relationship with the girl made him the best choice for this role. 

Clearing his throat, Javert added, "Jean. You need to tell her about your past. Even if I manage not to fuck up and say something, someone is bound to discover it sooner or later, and she should learn it from you first."

Valjean was already shaking his head, his brows drawn together and lips pressed in a scowl. "She trusts me. She thinks criminals are scarier than the Sergeants -- the family she lived with before I got out of the pen -- they sometimes had "friends" stay with them and God only knows what she overheard there. Besides, you were nervous enough about her accidentally calling you Dad in front of someone from school. Can you imagine if she accidentally mentioned my past to the wrong person?"

"She never has called me Dad in front of anyone but you and Toussaint," Javert reminded him. 

"She's too young. It's more responsibility than someone her age should have to worry about. Did knowing what your mother was make your childhood any easier?" Javert could not say yes to that, and after a moment, Valjean sighed. "Drop it, already."

Though he nodded and kissed Valjean apologetically, trying to restore the previous mood, Javert wondered whether it might be best for them to tell their entire histories to Gorbeau and let a professional publicist decide how to manage the media before one of the spying assholes who regularly appeared in the vicinity of their home discovered them and ruined all their lives. But he wasn't sure of what Gorbeau would do with the information. Valjean kissed him back, but Javert could tell that he was still upset. "I do not look at you and see a convict. I see a good man," he said.

"A benevolent malefactor," muttered Valjean wryly. It was the description of Madeleine from the series bible -- a convict who was merciful, gentle, helpful, preferring pity to vengeance. 

"You taught me to see past that. I see Cosette's father. My lover." Slowly Valjean was untensing, returning his kisses. "I just want to protect you. You and Cosette both."

"Trust me. It's better this way. She's already had a lot of changes to deal with." Now Valjean's voice was cajoling. "Let's go away together. Let me protect her from the world for as long as I can."

Javert remained wary of trusting anyone from the studio with any information about his life, even -- perhaps particularly -- where he intended to spend hiatus after they wrapped the episode in which Valjean watched Fantine's character die and rescued the young child whom Fantine herself would soon portray as a young adult. But Valjean mentioned to Gorbeau that they intended to travel together, and she promptly involved herself in the planning. Any resentment Javert had felt about the intrusion disappeared when he realized that Gorbeau was an expert in disguising potential publicity bombshells, so she was able to book hotels that would protect their privacy and divert the media by allowing a grateful Fantine to become the focus of attention, managing to get herself photographed everywhere from the dog park to the jewelry boutique where she had once worked as a salesgirl.

This allowed Javert, Valjean, and Cosette to escape to a resort which, if not entirely private, was less crowded than Javert had feared, with restaurants and bookstores where it was easy even for recognizable television actors to disappear. Cosette was positively gleeful to be taken on the first real holiday she had ever had, while Valjean appeared content primarily that he had pleased the other two.

"You look ungodly sinful in that bathing suit," Javert told him as soon as Cosette tore off shrieking into the swelling waves.

Valjean gave the blanket a flip over the sand and his arse did a little movement that wasn't completely accidental. "What? You've seen me in less than this, lots of times."

Javert ran a hand over his decidedly rounded front and shook his head. He worked out--they both did, but he would never have the flat belly he'd had in his twenties. He watched Valjean plop down on the outspread blanket, eyes scanning for Cosette and waving to make sure she saw him. Javert followed him onto the blanket, adjusting the umbrella so that it covered more of their bodies. "It's different out in public," he replied once he was satisfied with the shade.

Propping himself up on his elbows, Valjean grinned at him. "Different because I probably have sunscreen in some orifice after what you did to me last night?" he asked quietly.

Javert looked around hastily to make sure no one had heard the outrageous -- but true -- remark. "Different because everyone is staring at you, men and women, but I'm the one that gets to --" He lowered his voice even though they were well away from the other holiday-goers and the surf surely canceled out any stray sounds. "Use sunscreen on you," he finished as quietly as he could manage and still be heard. They shared a smile that, had anyone been comparing them to their characters, would have left no doubt that the mayor and his chief inspector were more than friends.

The growl that Valjean expressed must have been partly sub-vocal because it made Javert shiver. Coming here had been a good idea. They were far away enough from the cast or crew. True, they could never completely escape the media, but there was no place on Earth they could do that and Javert thought that the one cameraman who'd snapped Valjean's photo on the wharf had not noticed that Valjean was waiting for himself and Cosette inside the nearby store with old telescopes and navigational equipment. 

They had been careful to avoid PDA's and Gorbeau had made sure to get rooms for all of them with connecting doors, so that if one of the beds had never been slept in, it was easy enough to rumple every morning. And if the waves knocked them into one another in wet clinging suits, it was easy enough to linger in the warm water long enough for unexpected bulges to disappear.

"I'm going in," Valjean decided, pushing up to a sitting position. "All this talk of our sins is getting me hot."

"Wait." Javert sat up beside him. "I know you don't want to talk about it, but before we go back, we need to have that conversation with Cosette."

The scowl on Valjean's face told Javert that he had, at least, put an end to any risk of getting Valjean hot. "Are you going to bring that up every day and ruin our vacation?"

"I'm going to bring it up until you do it. If you want me to parent her with you, you have to expect that I'm going to tell you when I think something important which concerns her needs to be addressed. We may be away from the show, but they're still writing articles about us. If someone gets ahold of information about us before we talk to her..."

"I'm not ruining her holiday telling her that her Papa was in prison," Valjean interrupted, wearing an expression that warned Javert not to bring it up again or it wasn't only Cosette's vacation which could end dismally. "The more you nag about this, the more I think you will never see me as anyone besides the man I was."

"I'm not nagging..." objected Javert.

"Then let it go. We're not having this conversation again." Javert could only watch Valjean's admittedly very fine buttocks as Valjean strode away toward the water, calling out for Cosette in a voice that only someone who knew him as well as Javert would notice was falsely cheerful. Within a few minutes, they were splashing and shrieking together, and Javert decided that it was not worth risking the happiness that they had all found by pressing the issue.

Indeed, when Valjean and Cosette quarreled, it was over a different issue entirely. She was unhappy that their holiday had to end, and when Valjean explained that he had work to do -- for one thing, the producers were auditioning girls to play Madeleine's adopted daughter in flashbacks as a child, and the producers wanted to see how the actresses looked with Valjean. "I want to try out," announced Cosette.

"But you've never done any acting," Valjean pointed out, flummoxed by this newly expressed interest.

"I was a lamb in the Christmas pageant," Cosette objected. "And a duck in the Easter pageant..."

"A duck?" Javert asked Valjean, pleased that he managed not to snort.

"There were many birds that produced colored eggs," explained Valjean, somehow without bursting into laughter as well. "And Cosette was very charming, but she didn't even ask to play one of the speaking roles. Cosette, the girls auditioning to play Lark will be older than you and will have more experience."

"But couldn't I try? I wouldn't get in any trouble -- you would both be there. You never let me do anything!"

"Cosette," Javert said somberly. "When I got my first acting job, it was because one of the producers thought I looked like the character should. I had no training. The other actors mocked me. They didn't think that I belonged there."

Javert could see by the tightening at the corners of her mouth that Cosette was marshaling another argument. "But you tried at least," she rebutted, huffing air out of her mouth in barely constrained frustration. "That's all I'm asking, is to try --"

"I just don't want you to get hurt," Valjean cut in, running a hand through his hair.

Cosette's mouth was set into a stubborn line and for a moment she looked so much like Valjean when he was refusing to talk about his past that they could truly have been biological father and daughter. "You're already convinced I won't get in. You don't think I --"

"I was going to say you'd be hurt if you didn't do well," Valjean tried, but Javert could tell they weren't getting through to Cosette.

She looked from one of them to the other. "You don't have to tell them I'm your daughter," she began, obviously trying to suggest that she was making a compromise.

"Honey, they all know what you look like," Valjean replied, rolling his eyes. "I just don't..." His argument was deflating in the face of her beseeching look. "All right, I'll ask about bringing you in. But when they learn how little acting experience you have, they may not even let you read."

Indeed, the casting director did not allow Cosette to audition for the part, though it was her age rather than her inexperience that foiled her plans, for she looked too old to play the small girl rescued by Madeleine from the inn where Lark had been made to work as a slave, yet too young to play the adolescent yearning to leave the convent where Lark and Madeleine took refuge. Yet, apparently afraid of offending Valjean -- and wishing to portray him as a family man in the news -- Lafitte offered to let Cosette appear as one of the non-speaking extras in the convent scenes. Valjean remained concerned about how this would affect Cosette, since it meant missing several days from school, but Cosette's teachers thought that performing might encourage her to be more comfortable speaking up in class, and the opportunity for fifteen minutes of fame apparently won Cosette some popularity among her fellow students, which pleased her.

It meant another period of adjustment for Javert, having to get used to the girl turning up in the trailer where he and Valjean had made love on nearly every piece of furniture. What he lost in that private intimacy, however, he gained in social interaction, for Valjean had many more scenes to film than did Javert or Cosette, and while they waited to be called, Cosette liked for Javert to take her around the lot, introducing her to people and showing her the costume shop, the prop department, the labs where the art and visual effects teams did their work. People were friendlier to an eager child than they had been to Javert himself -- which, he soon learned, was because they had perceived him as fierce and frightening -- and both he and Cosette struck up a friendship with Gavroche, the boy who played the leader of the street urchins on the show.

It was not unusual for the phone to wake them before 6 a.m. with some production demand, but Valjean and Javert both had the day off on the particular morning when both the home phone and both their cell phones began to ring insistently. Valjean put a pillow over his head, but finally Javert could withstand the noise no longer and answered his. "Good morning, JV," Gorbeau's tinny voice came out of the speaker. "Where's Jean?"

"Do you know what time it is?" grumbled Javert. 

"Yes. Do you know what day it is?"

"Thursday. Waterloo flashbacks," Javert replied, while from the other side of the bed, Valjean spoke up from beneath the pillow:

"Neither of us is required to be on the set!"

"That's right. It's Thursday," said Gorbeau smugly. "Tell JVJ I'm sorry to disturb your beauty sleep or whatever the two of you were doing, but he's been nominated for an Emmy, so his phone is about to start ringing off the hook. And so have you, so yours is, too. It's pretty much unheard of for someone your age on your first major show. Remember, all interview requests need to go through me. Sweet dreams, JV." The call clicked off.

"What was that?" muttered Valjean while Javert fumbled for the bedroom TV remote.

"Gorbeau, trying to catch you with my cock in your mouth," Javert growled, pressing the button to turn on the cable box. 

It took a few minutes to find a channel recapping the entertainment news, but there it was: Valjean, along with the leads of several popular medical and crime shows, was indeed up for Best Actor in a Drama. Javert had been nominated for supporting actor, as had Fantine for supporting actress. He wondered whether she had known that she was being promoted in the secondary rather than major category, something he would have expected her to complain about despite her recent gratitude at having her job saved so that she could remain on the show. Javert was irritated that he too had been relegated to the supporting category when he'd appeared on the series for longer than Valjean, though he told himself that, as Gorbeau had said, it was something of a miracle that either of them had received this sort of attention, particularly since Fantine was the only one who'd already won an award that season whereas they'd been overlooked even for most of the smaller critics' awards and by MTV.

He'd known the business was capricious and shallow -- he knew that because of what Valjean looked like, Valjean would always receive more attention and first crack at the sorts of roles Javert could have played just as well -- but nothing could have prepared him for the explosion of attention that suddenly invaded their lives, attention mostly focused on Valjean and not himself, even though their minutes of screen time were nearly identical and Javert's character had actually interacted with more of the others than had Valjean's. Javert found himself spending more time alone with Cosette while Valjean was sent off to talk shows, promotional appearances, even the Teen Choice Awards along with all the recently hired young cast members playing the revolutionaries despite the fact that not one of their episodes had aired yet. 

When he inquired, Gorbeau explained tactfully yet clearly that the network couldn't very well send Valjean and Javert both out to every event as if they were a couple...not when they actually were. "I thought protecting your privacy was important to you," she said.

"Not having reporters hiding in the bushes is important to me," Javert shot back. "I haven't lost any sleep worrying about whether there's gossip about Valjean and me."

"Then let me tell you, if you've been lucky enough to avoid it, there is plenty of gossip. And it could affect his Emmy chances and yours. Don't let the liberal reputation of this business fool you, there are plenty of people who won't vote for you and won't hire you if you make your sexual orientation an issue..."

"Sitting next to my co-star at a TV fundraiser is not making my sexual orientation an issue!"

"You're being naive." And she was probably right, because Javert found himself trapped. He and Valjean had no desire for a big public coming out -- apart from the media, the lack of privacy, and the possible impact on the show's ratings, Valjean had ongoing concerns about stirring up trouble with social workers who would have power over a niece living with an ex-con until she reached legal age. Javert knew that Valjean did not enjoy being dragged away early in the morning or late in the evening to make appearances, Valjean didn't even seem to care whether he won the fucking Emmy, but he found it easier and safer to put on a smile and answer the safely scripted questions put to him than to give the news a reason to go digging for a different story.

In the end, of course, it didn't matter. It came as no surprise on the day Lafitte pounded on Javert's trailer door, not blinking to find Valjean inside already. "There's a reporter on the phone with Gorbeau," Lafitte said in the sort of pleasant voice that Cosette's foster mother on the show had used to lie to Madeleine about the girl's health. "He claims to have old photos of you. Mug shots. And something about a prison football game. Your agent tells me he knows nothing about it. Is there anything you want to tell me before the story goes live?"

"Tell them they've got the wrong man," Valjean said calmly while Javert faked a coughing fit as an excuse not to speak. It was a good choice, because when Lafitte promptly unfolded a fax showing a terrible yet recognizable black-and-white image of Valjean, a younger Valjean, Valjean as he had looked when Javert first knew him, Valjean in prison, Javert took the opportunity to go hide in the other room pretending to need water and tissues. Christ, it wasn't like he'd ever forgotten, but he hadn't known it would affect him like this, shaking and practically sick to his stomach. Fuck. Who had they been kidding, pretending they could have a normal life? Nothing ever changed that much.

"You changed your name," Lafitte was saying.

"Valjean is my birth name. It's Lecric that was the fake name, and I haven't been that man since they let me out of prison. Like almost every actor on this show -- you think anyone's mother named him Bossuet Laigle? I didn't falsify any documents when I took this job. No one ever asked if I'd done time."

"You signed a form agreeing that there were no circumstances that might embarrass the..."

"Oh, fuck off, Lafitte!" Javert had had enough, storming out of the bedroom so quickly that Lafitte took a step back in alarm. "You knew you had stoners and pervs and that pedo Thénardier who looks for excuses to hang out with the little girls. The red-haired bitch who played the head of the prostitutes last season started out in porn -- it's why you hired her."

"They aren't series leads," sputtered Lafitte.

"You think it'll help the show if you dump your series lead the minute an ugly tabloid story hits? What do you think people are tuning in to watch -- the political ideology?"

"I have no intention of dumping my series lead. Though the studio does believe it would be best if Valjean takes a few days off until this settles down. This week's episode is mostly about the revolutionaries anyway. Enjolras has been making grand speeches about how the audience deserves to know their backgrounds -- we'll give him the screen time he wants." Lafitte looked them both over, appraising. "Gorbeau would like to speak with you before you leave today."

"I bet she would," muttered Valjean.

"Not with you. She'll call you at home. I meant Javert." Lafitte had already turned, scowling, toward the door. "If this is to be managed, you need to leave it with the publicists. Don't speak to anyone -- not the press and not friends who could become unnamed sources."

It sounded like a threat, but it wasn't as if Javert intended to call a press conference to tell lies on Valjean's behalf, nor did he have confidants of the sort Lafitte feared. Once the bastard of a producer had gone, Javert spent several minutes swearing fluently. Valjean went to hide in the bathroom.

"Is it safe to come out?" he called after a few minutes of silence.

"I haven't broken anything," reported Javert grimly.

Valjean emerged, looking miserable. "You should go see Gorbeau. I want to pick up Cosette myself, in case any of this winds up on the news today."

"If they're looking for a quiet way to ditch you, I'll fucking quit."

"You have a contract." Valjean's voice, quiet and commanding, cut through the argument. "No matter what they say, you aren't going to quit. You have to help take care of Cosette."

In fact, what Gorbeau had to say was almost worse than threatening to ditch Valjean. "You know there are going to be reporters hiding in the bushes again," she warned. "Stalking you at the gym and grocery store, taking your picture every time you walk outside..."

"Get to the goddamn point."

"It might be better for everyone if you went away for a few days, until this all dies down. You signed the standard clause to publicize the show -- we'd send you to New York. It would be good for your Emmy chances to..."

"Fuck the Emmys, and fuck you! He has a child. _We_ have a child. Legally, I'm her next of kin. You're not going to send me away from them!" To his satisfaction, Gorbeau looked intimidated. "Send Fantine to New York. Valjean and I saved her fucking job. She owes us. I don't give a shit if she wins an Emmy and I don't." His previous irritation that he might be overlooked in favor of Valjean seemed trivial now. 

"I know you think I'm only covering the studio's asses, but I'm trying to help both of you, Javert." She pushed something across her desk at him. It was a bad black and white photocopy of his application to work as a guard...fingerprints, signature, and a grainy photo that was still recognizably himself. 

A slow pit of nausea roiled Javert's belly. "I'm going home," he told Gorbeau. "The PA can email me the new schedule. If you're concerned about appearances if we go shopping, tell the studio to send us one of those big food baskets they sent to congratulate us on our Emmy nominations, and we won't have to go to the grocery store."

"I'll send over some bourbon," she replied, not without sympathy. "JV, I like you. But the media will put two and two together as quickly as I did. For your sake more than mine, I need a different story."

"You expect me to sit down in front of the cameras and tell the sad fucking fable of my parents' criminal records and how I worked to become a better man?"

The pity on her face was worse than the condemnation he'd expected. "You're an actor now," she reminded him. "A good one. Give me the story, I'll tell you how to feed it to the media. You and he have both come so far. You can probably save both of your careers, but you know what this business is like. You have to make a choice."

When Javert slammed out of Gorbeau's office, he practically tripped over Enjolras, who was headed in. Of any of the young men hired for the new season, Enjolras was the one who annoyed Javert the most -- a Yale-trained prince blessed with beautiful hair and glorious cheekbones, his extremely rare smiles revealing the most perfect teeth a dentist could provide, espousing the single-minded devotion to his craft possible only for someone who'd grown up without having to worry about starving or finding himself on the street. "Are you all right?" Enjolras asked with his characteristic obsessive earnestness, and then, fluttering his unnaturally long lashes, "Is it true? About Valjean?"

"Is that really any of your business?" barked Javert.

Straightening, Enjolras took on the pose of the young revolutionary he'd been hired to play. "I just want him to know that every one of us supports him -- the Friends, you know, all of us who are playing the students. If Lafitte tries to threaten him, we'll go on strike. That's what I was coming here to tell them."

As happened frequently when he saw Enjolras in action, Javert wavered between laughing and snorting. "Let the adults deal with this," he warned, trying to sound polite instead of incredulous. "It's not even clear whether the rumors will have an impact on the show..."

Reaching into his pocket, Enjolras pulled out a phone and brought up Twitter. "He's trending," the young man intoned. 

"Why don't you all tweet your support, then?" suggested Javert, trying not to sound mocking.

"Hashtag justiceforvaljean," Enjolras said seriously. Javert had to flee before he burst out laughing, or, worse, burst into tears.


	9. Chapter 9

This, raged Javert silently all the way home in the car that the studio provided, this was what Valjean had wanted all along. _This_ was why he'd brought Javert into his circle, and his confidence, and his bed. It wasn't only Valjean's secrets about to be exposed, but Javert's, and the latter would serve as a distraction, perhaps even mitigation, of the former.

He'd glanced at the tweets, most of which, in the wake of the TMZ revelations, were supportive and doubtful if not incredulous. There didn't seem to be any groundswell of hostility toward Valjean, though there were the usual mutterings about celebrities living immoral lifestyles and thinking they could get away with anything. Ridiculous, in this case, since all of Valjean's misdeeds had been from long before he became a celebrity, and as far as Javert could tell, he'd been a model citizen since before television had made him famous.

Javert had nearly begun to believe that perhaps he'd underestimated people when he spotted the inevitable:

**JVJ + JV R FAGGOTS**

Several replies objected to the language, both the vulgarity and the homophobic slur. But amidst those replies were also lewd suggestions about who fucked whom, presentations of "evidence" proving this to be the case, and retweets of photos -- himself and Valjean at the zoo, himself and Valjean outside the house from the tabloids, himself and Valjean laughing together through the window of a restaurant and when the fuck had that been taken anyway...himself, Valjean, and Cosette, the latter the only one whose face could be seen clearly, at the school art show in which she'd had an illustration of several constellations. A photo that made them look like a family. A photo that could only have been taken by a parent, a teacher, or someone posing as one. _Fuck._

Then he arrived home and things got exponentially worse. There were half a dozen reporters parked outside the house, with photographers and a fucking news truck. Questions came, one on top of the next:

"Did you know, JV?"

"Was he your lover before you were on the show?"

"Who's the girl's mother? Is she why he was in jail?"

"Will his character be written off the series?"

"No comment, you're trespassing on private property, go away," Javert told them with his best fake smile, which he had been told was scarier than most people's glares. He was proud of himself for making it to the front door without physically threatening anyone.

Valjean and Cosette weren't home yet. At first Javert took this to be good news, since it meant Cosette wouldn't have seen the circus outside. Maybe they'd disperse. He started to make tea, changed his mind, opened a beer, notified his trainer that he wouldn't make it to the gym that day, and was trying to read a script that his agent had sent over before all the insanity started, when his phone buzzed.

**Not coming home tonight. Better for C this way. Can G get you an unregistered phone? Safer to reply that way.**

Not coming home? What the fuck was Valjean talking about, and where had he gone? Javert texted back at once asking, but got no reply. Perfect, now Valjean was being paranoid, even about Javert. He stormed back out, past the lingering reporters, got into the car and drove to the nearest strip mall with an electronics store, paying cash for a no-contract Virgin Mobile flip phone. Only one person recognized him, and the force with which he told her to fuck off proved an extremely effective deterrent to conversation. 

It was a relief to turn off his regular phone, which had been buzzing incessantly with text and voice messages from everyone in the world he wanted to ignore. **Unregistered** , he punched in, hunched over the steering wheel, hoping his baseball cap would hide his face from passersby the way it had apparently disguised him in the store. **Where are you?**

**Retreat house. Nuns letting us stay. C still knows nothing. Be in touch tomorrow.**

Javert had vaguely known that there was a retreat center connected to the church that operated Cosette's school, but he'd assumed it was for addicts and battered women. He'd never given any thought to whether such a place might give sanctuary to criminals. Starting up the car, he tore out of the parking lot and drove straight to the grounds of the school.

"The center is private," he was told by the polite woman who greeted him in the welcome center. She was dressed ordinarily, if modestly, and it took him a few minutes to realize that despite the lack of a wimple, the pin on her collar meant that she was a nun.

"I understand that, but I'm Cosette's guardian. I need to see them."

"I can pass on a message if they're not in the chapel, but you won't be permitted past this gatehouse."

"Then I'll go stand outside and scream 'Valjean!' until he shows up." Javert was wearing his fiercest expression, but the woman didn't even blink. "He isn't hiding from me. We have a mutual problem, and I can only fix it if I can talk to him."

"I can pass on a message," she said again, though Javert was already texting.

 **I'm in the gatehouse. Get the fuck out here.** Silence. Had the nuns made Valjean turn off his phone in church? "May I borrow a piece of paper, Sister?" asked Javert with the same insincere smile he'd given the reporters. The bitch handed it to him with a pen and a calm, serene look that made him want to punch her in the face the way his character secretly wanted to punch Sister Baptistine, the holier-than-thou nun of _The Forlorn_. He scribbled the same message minus the profanity and handed it to woman, then sat, smiling pointedly, to indicate that he would wait.

It took her twenty minutes to return, alone.

"Your friend intends to remain here this evening with his daughter." The fact that the nun said _his daughter_ and not _your daughter_ infuriated Javert almost to the point of shouting, even though it wasn't really this woman at whom he wanted to shout. She handed him a note scribbled on the back of his own.

 **JV, Got to get this sorted in my own head before I tell Cosette. You have to let me do this my own way.** This made Javert seethe -- it was what Valjean had been saying every time Javert had told him they needed to tell Cosette about Valjean's past before she found out from someone much less sympathetic. **I'll call tomorrow.**

For a few moments Javert really did consider making a scene, rushing past the nun into the retreat center or doing just what he had threatened and standing in the entrance shouting Valjean's name. But that would only serve to drive Valjean further away, if such a thing were possible. "Thank you," he said with the insincere smile before marching out, back to his car. He was already backing out when he realized that he had nowhere to go. He had no intention of walking the gauntlet again with the reporters at the house. Nor did he want to risk going to the studio, where there would be even more media coverage.

But he had nothing to wear -- not even his gym bag, which was in the house. He turned his regular phone back on, scrolled past the notifications for more than eighty messages, found Gorbeau's number.

"Are you still there?"

"You think I'm going to get home before midnight?" she asked irritably, as if Javert should feel sorry for her when it was his own life that had been blown away. "Yes, I'm still here."

"I need to get back into my trailer and I don't know how I'm going to get on the lot without a scene like the one at my house."

"Park in the Westin lot," she said calmly. "I'll send a car to meet you there and drive you here. Have you eaten? Once you're here, I can have craft services send over some food." All right, so Gorbeau was good for something. But she ruined it by asking, "Where's Valjean? None of us can get in touch with him."

"He's hiding. Even from me." Fuck -- Javert could hear his own voice shake.

At least this had the effect of convincing Gorbeau that he didn't know anything, because she didn't try to interrogate him further. "It's going to be fine, JV. The studio isn't planning anything drastic. Go to the Westin and we'll get you on the lot."

Gorbeau was as good as her word. A kid who looked too young to have a driver's license was already waiting when Javert parked at the hotel, and asked no questions as he navigated to the studio lot, with Javert slouched in the back seat too low for anyone to glance in and recognize him. A cart was waiting to take him to his trailer, where he hadn't been for more than ten minutes before he heard a knock and a call from outside that his dinner was waiting. There was even a small bottle of bourbon.

But Javert couldn't eat or drink anything. His stomach was in knots. **Call me now** , he texted Valjean once, but it was ignored. This was how little he mattered to Valjean, who had not only fled at the first significant sign of trouble, but who had taken Cosette with him. This despite months of trying to forge bonds between Javert and Cosette, to protect Valjean and the girl. It had all been an elaborate ploy by a con man who had not changed after all.

And Javert's own reputation was in tatters. After so many years of carefully guarding his privacy, his entire life had been exposed. Surely this was part of Valjean's plan as well, to create a distraction by being certain that Javert --

The phone rang, not his mobile but one plugged into the wall of the trailer that was used by the studio to summon him when the schedule changed. "Yes?" he barked.

"Listen, JV," Gorbeau said, sounding tired. "I can't force you to say anything to the media, but I can tell you who's likely to spin things with the most sympathy and the fewest intrusive questions. Simplice from _EW_ is here. Any chance I can convince you to talk to her?"

Javert remembered Simplice, one of the few reporters who'd ever kept her word about keeping things off the record. She was one of the only people in the business with any integrity, which Javert respected, though he was not above using her reputation for honesty to promote his own agenda. If Valjean intended to throw Javert to the wolves, then Javert could become the wolf. "Send her over," he said coolly. "Tell her no video."

He expected Simplice's questions to focus on what everyone else was talking about -- Valjean's criminal past, the rumors about Valjean and Javert, or, if Gorbeau had stressed the need to keep the focus on the show, Javert's feelings about the new season, the fact that his character and Valjean's were more at odds than ever. But once she'd sat down and declined his offer of tea, she began with a question that caught him off-balance. "I understand that you worked in security before you started acting. Can you tell me what aspects of that career inform your character on _The Forlorn_?"

Though Javert had signed the standard agreement not to discuss his work in security and particularly as a prison guard, it was as if he'd been waiting for just such a question. It was, of course, a topic that Valjean utterly avoided, and Javert had never encountered anyone else with a similar background. "I've read complaints from viewers that it seems like the inspector is the only policeman in the country, given the number of coincidental encounters he has with the same people," he began. "That might be true of public law officers, but in private security and the for-profit prison system, there are too few guards and far too many lawbreakers. The inspector isn't naive about both practical and humanitarian reasons for changes in the system..."

He had been talking for twenty minutes about parallels between the show and the things he'd witnessed, though he never mentioned names or places, comparing the ineffectual police chases of the show with corporate security failures in which weak leaders failed to follow through, the citizens allowed to contract pneumonia while searched in the cold by heartless policemen in the fictional Montreuil with sick inmates ignored by guards until they became so ill that they required expensive hospitalization, the fact that pregnant women were sometimes denied chairs, that prisoners were known to steal from one another, that the guards gossipped and leaked information...the only way that photo of Valjean could have been leaked to the press was by someone within the prison system itself, a public official or a privately hired guard. Simplice held up her hand. "It sounds as though these issues are important to you, on the show and as a cause," she said. "Did you think about an actual career in law enforcement instead of playing a cop on TV?"

"My father died in prison," he blurted out, though he immediately regretted it -- not the facts, which every entertainment reporter already knew, but admitting that he thought about the connection, and that he would never be free of the parents he had renounced. "I thought working in security would make me feel like I was upholding the values of the society he rejected. My mother as well. No one cared who my parents were, working in security; it caused a bigger scandal here, in entertainment."

"Did you turn away from law enforcement because you found the system unfair?" she prodded.

By now he was ready for such a question, and quickly diverted it, explaining that he had been working in security at a studio when a talent agent had spotted him and asked whether he'd be interested in playing a guard on TV. Simplice wondered whether he'd previously thought of himself as photogenic, which Javert still did not; he assumed rather that his mismatched eyes and nose and skin tone, which defied easy guesses as to his ethnic origin, made it possible for directors to cast him as a brute without being accused of stereotyping. Though he had had no training in character-building, he'd been accustomed to pretending to be better than he was from a young age, at making himself invisible when necessary, and at using his voice to intimidate, so he worked at making his characters as complex and hard to pin down as possible.

"I'm sure you know many actors believe it's important to have a secret about their characters that no one else knows. Does the inspector have a secret?" When Javert snorted that the inspector had many secrets, Simplice pressed again. "Does he have a secret concerning Valjean?"

"Are you asking about the subtext with the mayor, or about myself and Valjean?" Javert fired back.

Simplice gave him a demure smile. "I promised that I wouldn't ask about your personal life. Your producer would like to keep that out of the news."

"Lafitte is less concerned that people will be scandalized by an actor's criminal record than finding out he's involved with a man," snapped Javert. "Don't print that. Wait -- don't print Lafitte's name. I have no problem with people knowing how outrageous I find it that I'm expected to lie about my personal life, as if that and not having parents who actively encouraged me to break the law is something to be ashamed of. I think Lafitte thinks we'll lose more viewers if they find out Valjean's a cocksucker than if they find out he has a record." 

He'd chosen the profanity deliberately, expecting not only that Simplice would wrinkle her nose at the vulgar term, but that she wouldn't be allowed to print it even if she wanted to. Simplice was frowning, but she asked, "What about you? You have a reputation as a very private person. Is that to protect yourself, or the show, or both?"

"Is there a difference? If the producers are right, and the value of an entertainment property rises and falls with the reputations of their actors, and the television audience is --" Again Javert stopped himself. Even if Simplice was inclined to write positive articles about her subjects, he didn't want to provide any ammunition. "Let me rephrase. I'm just a guy. I can't change my past. I've made some good choices and some bad ones. Like Valjean. It really isn't anyone's business what I do with my private life, but I resent the suggestion that I should lie and treat things as shameful when they're not illegal and not causing any harm."

"I did some research. You've become the guardian for Valjean's child," Simplice noted. Javert must have looked thunderous, because she quickly added, "The court documents aren't sealed."

"No one knows better than I do how children are affected by the reputations of the people in charge of them," Javert shot back.

"Then, even though I'm not supposed to ask about your private life, would you like to set the record straight? When did you learn about Valjean's history?"

"Before the entire world found out about mine," muttered Javert. "We don't keep secrets. It's why we can play off each other the way we do on the show."

They were talking about job integrity, the fact that Javert and Simplice were both people who refused to lie merely because it was convenient, when someone knocked on the door. It was Gorbeau. "I was just telling Simplice the sordid details of my sex life," Javert told her.

"She won't print them. We agreed beforehand," replied Gorbeau smoothly. Simplice offered a bland smile. "I heard from Valjean. He feels that, for Cosette's sake, it might be best if you distanced yourself, professionally and personally, from whatever scandal threatens him. I tried to tell him that we don't intend to let it affect the show."

That bastard had talked to Gorbeau when he wouldn't speak to Javert? He must have been fooling himself all these months to believe that anything could work long-term between them. He'd let himself trust Valjean when Valjean didn't trust him. Of course a man like Valjean wouldn't change so much. "Out," Javert barked at both of them, gesturing to the door. Obviously he needed to speak to his lawyer, to find out what his rights were concerning the girl.

But it was too late in the day, though Javert left several messages at several different extensions. Everyone had locked down for the night. At least Gorbeau had been busy, Javert knew when he turned on the television to see how bad things had gotten in terms of coverage. There on the entertainment news was Fantine, weeping as she defended Valjean. "He was my angel," she said, her lip quivering artfully. "He saved my job. But it isn't just me. He's done so much for so many people in this cast."

"Do you think the cast would protest if he suffered ill effects from these revelations?" prompted the interviewer.

"I think the cast would walk off the set," Fantine replied, tossing her hair. "Not just the cast. The crew might strike, too. Jean Valjean is the heart of this show -- the one who's involved the rest of us in public activities and charity events. He is our mayor."

Javert was rolling his eyes - Valjean wasn't even the mayor on the show now, not since he'd fled to the city to hide from Javert - when the interview cut away to a different reporter standing with Enjolras and the rest of the actors who played the revolutionaries. They were all wearing **#justiceforvaljean** buttons. 

"He's the only one who's spoken for us," Enjolras announced. "It was Valjean who insisted that our stories be told, the minor characters whose suffering is the focus of this season."

If Fantine's claims had been exaggerated, those of Enjolras were ridiculous. Valjean was no revolutionary behind or in front of the camera; even if he insisted upon believing that anyone could drop his past and turn himself into a saint overnight. If this was the sort of effect Valjean had on people, making the lie to defend him, making them overlook the fact that this was just a TV show while there were still terrible people in the world who committed all sorts of...

A pounding on his door interrupted his thoughts. "Victor! Open up!"

That was Valjean, though he hadn't called Javert "Victor" in months. Had he finally come to apologize? Well, it didn't matter. Javert had every intention of telling him that it was clear they had very different priorities. If Valjean was going to disappear with Cosette and shut Javert out when there was trouble, he had no business pretending that they were a family.

"What the fuck do you want?" he snarled, his face in a prepared rictus of fury so that he wouldn't do anything idiotic like tremble in front of Valjean, who didn't even wait for him to finish speaking before he had shoved past Javert into the trailer, looking around wildly. "If you think you can come in as if you own the place when you told that nun to keep me out of..."

"Where is she!" demanded Valjean, walking into the bedroom without so much as glancing at Javert.

"I assume the bitch is still at the convent where I left her," Javert snapped.

"What did you say?" For an instant Javert thought Valjean was going to hit him.

"I said I left your precious nun in the gatehouse..."

"Not the nun!" Valjean gestured wildly, his face still contorted. "Cosette!"

"You're the one who took her away from me!"

It wasn't exactly what Javert had meant to say, nor did he mean to sound distraught instead of furious, but the words changed Valjean's entire demeanor. "That's not -- I didn't -- I was trying to protect you both." Valjean scrubbed a hand across his own face. "In the name of God, is that what you think I -- Christ --"

"For Cosette's sake, it might be best if I distanced myself professionally and personally from you," parroted Javert, aiming for sarcasm, though he couldn't keep the shake out of his voice.

"I wasn't trying to keep you away from Cosette." Javert was pretty sure Valjean was crying, but he wasn't about to get close enough to prove it. "I was trying to keep her safe! And you! If Social Services shows up at my door because of this, I need to know that you won't do anything stupid like insist on staying with me if they won't let me keep her! One of us has to be above reproach!"

"They know I knew your past and I covered it up. I'm already not above reproach." Valjean was definitely crying and Javert definitely didn't want to think about that or he knew it would derail him. "I've been telling you to tell them all the truth for months!"

"I know. I knew you'd tell me this was my own fault. I just, I didn't think I could handle it." Swiping furiously at his eyes, Valjean looked around again as if expecting that someone had come in while he'd had his face covered. "You really don't know where she is? Is your phone on -- not the unregistered one, the other?"

Turning his back, Javert pulled out both phones and checked. The new one had no new messages. The old one had dozens. It took quite a while for him to skip through all the voicemail recordings, none of which was from Cosette. He was grateful for the time this gave him to ignore Valjean, though he could hear Valjean pacing, going into the bedroom to call Gorbeau, slamming his hand into the trailer wall.

"She hasn't tried to call me," he told Valjean when he felt calm enough to speak. By then Valjean was sitting on his couch, arms wrapped around himself, rocking a bit. "What did you say to her? Are you sure the nuns didn't give her sanctuary from you?"

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that to you. I panicked. I'm an idiot." Apparently guilt made Valjean babble just as much as sex did. "I sat her down and told her all of it. That I'd been arrested. That I went to prison. She asked me what I did there and I started to tell her about the kinds of jobs prisoners could have, making furniture and military equipment. She put her hands over her ears and said she didn't believe me. Then she ran out. I assumed she'd gone to her room in the retreat...I thought the nuns would stop her from leaving. She ran right through the gatehouse. They didn't even tell me until they realized she might have gotten on a bus."

"How well does she know the area around the school?"

"She doesn't even know the area around our house. I don't think she knows how to get from home to the farmer's market. She could be anywhere!" Javert was reaching for his phone to call the police when Valjean added, "If I tell the cops that she ran away, it'll be on the record. They could use it as an excuse to take her away from me."

"What are you suggesting that we do?"

"I don't know! I was sure she'd come to you! I didn't think past that!"

"If she was looking for me, she'd have gone home."

"I went there first. I brought Sister Magloire with me so I could send her inside. She pretended she had come from the school to check on Cosette. Cosette was never there -- none of the reporters saw her. Neither did Toussaint."

Javert was dialing his phone before Valjean had stopped speaking, reaching the emergency number at the school, where he inquired whether anyone had checked the classrooms to see whether Cosette might be in one of them. He was confident that the school would be more worried about people discovering that they'd lost track of a student than in trying to blame Valjean for it. While he was speaking, he heard Valjean pull up the list of Cosette's classmates and begin to telephone, claiming that she'd gone home to study with someone and had failed to tell him whom. 

Javert started to work up from the bottom of the list, but before he'd connected with the second family, there was another knock at the door. "In the bedroom," he ordered Valjean before answering, expecting Gorbeau or one of her media flunkies.

It was one of the girls from the show. "We haven't properly been introduced. I'm Eponine," she began.

"This isn't a good..."

The girl was glancing around nervously. "If you know where JVJ is, please don't tell him who told you, because they'll be angry, but Cosette is in Marius's trailer."

Marius, recalled Javert, played one of the young revolutionaries. "Which trailer is his?" demanded Javert. 

In the time it took Eponine to point it out, Valjean had stormed out of the bedroom. "You know where Cosette is?" he barked at the girl, who shrank back.

"I'm not trying to get anyone in trouble! I was just trying to see Marius! But he had Fantine in there with him." She looked miserable. "And Cosette was with Fantine. She'd been looking for JV but couldn't find him."

Javert had grabbed his phone and keys to lock the door, but Valjean didn't pause, taking off at a sprint in the direction in which Eponine had pointed. "Which one?" he shouted. Javert forced him to wait until he had caught up before marching up to Marius's trailer and pounding on the door. "Cosette!" yelled Valjean. 

Silence. Javert nudged his way beside him on the step. "Marius," he called out more calmly. "If Cosette is with you, please let us speak to her."

There were murmurs on the other side of the door. Javert could see that Valjean was about to start pounding again, or possibly to break it down. "Please, Cosette!"

The door opened. "She's locked herself in the bathroom and won't come out," said the nervous looking young man who opened the door. Glancing past him, Javert could see Fantine, who was dressed as if she had expected to go somewhere less casual for dinner than a studio trailer. "Uh, Fantine just stopped by to..."

Valjean had already shoved his way past Marius into the trailer, hardly sparing a glance at Fantine, marching straight to the bathroom door. Most of the younger actors shared trailers among them, so Javert noticed Courfeyrac's scarf and hat tossed onto the couch, as well as some of the **#justiceforvaljean** buttons from Enjolras. "Why is she here?" he asked.

"Well, she and I..." Marius cleared his throat. "Fantine and I are in love."

Valjean was pleading through the bathroom door, begging Cosette to let them talk to her properly, paying no attention to Marius. It took effort for Javert not to roll his eyes. "I meant Cosette," he grated, holding back the _you fucking idiot_ that he wanted to add. "You do understand that Valjean only plays this one's father on television? She doesn't need his permission to date."

"Oh." Marius at least had the sense to look sheepish. "Cosette was looking for you. Fantine heard her crying and brought her here."

Fantine nodded agreement. "She's fine. We ordered pizza." Again Javert had to refrain from uttering a comment about the scintillating intellect of this analysis. "Cosette's upset about the news and I think afraid JVJ is planning on making her run away someplace where no one knows who he is."

Valjean apparently heard the last part of this because he glanced over at Javert. "Did you tell her you were planning on making her run away?" Javert asked him, pretending he was playing the inspector so that he could keep his voice level.

From inside the bathroom, Cosette shouted, "I'm not leaving!"

"Did you tell her you were going without me?" demanded Javert.

Valjean's eyes dropped. "I wasn't thinking clearly. I told her it would be better if we kept you safe."

He would deal with Valjean later, Javert decided, pushing him aside and rapping evenly on the bathroom door. "Cosette, no one is going to make you leave. I promise. Now, will you come out of there so we can talk about what we are going to do?" Silence. Grimly Javert added, "Marius may wet himself like a schoolboy if you don't let him use the bathroom."

"I'm not..." spluttered Marius, but that last had finally worked. Slowly the door opened. 

Javert could feel as much as see Valjean preparing to lunge and grab her; before Valjean could do so, he grabbed Valjean's wrist. It was obvious that Cosette had been crying, which made Javert as uncomfortable as ever, particularly when she threw her arms around him. At least some things hadn't changed. "Papa wouldn't let me see you," she sniffled.

"I shouldn't have done that. I made a lot of mistakes, Cosette." Again Valjean was on the verge of weeping. "I know you're very disappointed that I was in prison..."

"I'm not disappointed that you were in prison! You told me being honest was the most important thing but you've been lying every time I asked where you used to live!" Cosette looked as if she couldn't decide whether to stamp her foot like a child or spank Valjean like a parent. "You said we were a family but then you took me away from Dad!"

She was pointing at Javert. Both Marius and Fantine gasped a bit. "Maybe we should wait outside," Marius muttered.

They were moving toward the door when Fantine stopped and turned. "I know you don't like me," she said to Javert. "I've heard you call me a diva. But you also saved my job here. I stuck up for him..."

"I know. I saw the news." Javert paused awkwardly. He supposed he should refute that he thought she was a diva, but Cosette had, after all, just made a plea for honesty. He settled for, "Thank you. I didn't think you liked me, either." 

"Enjolras, Feuilly, and the rest of us had a meeting with Gorbeau," put in Marius. "They know that if the studio causes trouble, we'll all walk off the set."

"You'll all be fired," warned Javert. Cosette burst into tears again. "Don't walk off the set. Gorbeau is on our side. This will all calm down in a couple of days. Cosette, why don't we go home, so that Marius can have his trailer back?"

"Are you staying? You promise?" she begged. 

"I promise. You can come in my car if you want." Sobbing, Cosette threw her arms around his waist. For a moment Javert didn't dare to look at either her or Valjean, let alone to speak. Thankfully, Marius and Fantine took that moment to walk out the door. "Stop crying," Javert ordered sternly. "There are probably still photographers in front of the house. We need to present a united front."

Sniffling, Cosette wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "Papa?" she asked, turning toward him.

Valjean was leaning against the wall, looking older than his years. He had his arms wrapped around himself. "I thought I might lose you," he whispered.

"I was scared. But I knew how to get here from school, and home from school."

"That isn't what he meant." They both glanced at Javert as he spoke. He held Valjean's gaze. "The only people you're going to lose are the ones you push away."

"I want to go home, Papa," said Cosette in a small voice. "All of us."

Gorbeau offered to drive Javert and Cosette to retrieve Javert's car at the hotel. "The legitimate reporters know I'll give them photos and the paparazzi know I'll call the police if they trespass on private property," she explained, looking exhausted, as if she'd been mopping up after a street fight. "Go straight home -- if you need anything, have it delivered."

"What if we need to get out for some fresh air?" Javert asked her.

"Go through the sewers," she groused.


	10. Chapter 10

As the child of a fortuneteller, Javert did not put much stock in fate, and he found the concept of luck alarming. Even when something good happened to him, there was always a price. It wasn't that he believed in karma, exactly, but in his experience, wanting something badly enough usually had disastrous consequences in some other area of life. 

Javert's recent experiences with Valjean were more than sufficient proof for him that bad always followed good. If asked, he would have admitted to believing that his wish for the reporters camped in front of their house to go away might trigger an unintended cataclysm. So he was shocked yet somehow not surprised when they reached the hotel to retrieve his car, only to find a crowd of hysterical people outside, carrying handmade political banners that had nothing to do with _The Forlorn_. 

"What the hell!" muttered Gorbeau. "Stay in the garage. I'll find out what's going on and send you an email."

But before she could do so, Javert already knew, for he had turned on his car radio. "Once again, for those of you just joining us, Senator Lamarque is dead," intoned the news.

"Wasn't Senator Lamarque going to be the next president?" asked Cosette.

"Only if he won the election," Javert said grimly. But Cosette was very likely right. Lamarque, a former general and military hero turned champion of the poor, was loved for various reasons by people with a wide range of political beliefs. Javert had never concerned himself much with politicians -- some of them were devoted to the welfare of the state, some only to their own advancement, and it was his responsibility to obey their laws whether the laws made sense to him or not -- but he knew that Lamarque's death would cause ripples that affected everyone.

**Looks like you won't make the late news after all** , Gorbeau emailed him. **I've got to get home and get on the phone. Seems like that jackass Enjolras is trying to put together an actors' tribute to Lamarque. I have to keep the show's name out of it.**

Fuck, but luck was fickle. Lamarque was dead, but there was not a single reporter in front of the house when Javert arrived home with Cosette.

Valjean hadn't been happy that Cosette had insisted on leaving with Javert instead of with him, but he understood that arguing would only further convince Cosette that he was trying to take her away from Javert. Thus, Valjean had been the first to arrive home, where Javert and Cosette found him pacing in the kitchen, meddling with Toussaint's attempts to bake cookies. "You fix," she pleaded with Javert, gesturing at Valjean. Javert wondered what Valjean thought would happen to Toussaint if he disappeared or even dismissed her -- one more thing they were going to need to have a talk about, eventually.

For that evening, however, it was enough to behave for a little while as if everything was already back to normal, even if "normal" meant that instead of a story at bedtime, Valjean told Cosette about Lamarque's accomplishments in welfare reform and what it might mean for the country that he was dead. Cosette was only half-listening. She wanted to know about Javert's parents. She'd known that they were both dead, but of course she hadn't known how or where they died.

So he told her. Valjean listened silently as Cosette asked questions about why Javert hadn't ever visited his father in prison and whether he was sorry now. "If Papa went back to prison, you'd take me to see him, wouldn't you?"

Valjean made an indecipherable noise. "Your Papa isn't going back to prison," Javert assured Cosette. "But if he ever did, which he will not, then yes. I would."

"See?" Cosette said to Valjean as if they'd discussed this. "Dad wouldn't try to take me away from _you_."

"I shouldn't have done that even for a little while," Valjean agreed fervently. "I'm sorry. I'll keep saying it until you both believe me."

Javert expected Cosette to press the issue further, but instead she said, "I want to come to your trailer after school when you're both there."

Valjean and Javert exchanged a glance. "It might interfere with your schoolwork..." began Valjean.

"I'll get that done. I did when they let me be on the show. I want to see Gavroche. Did you know he's adopted, too? He had parents who were criminals, like Dad."

It was a revelation to Javert, and apparently to Valjean, that Cosette was aware of such things. "I suppose she is old enough to go out with friends after school," Valjean said reluctantly.

"And I don't need Toussaint to stay home with --"

"Yes, you do,"Javert interrupted firmly. For a moment he thought Cosette would argue, but she only glanced from him to Valjean, then nodded.

With Cosette so much in his own corner and the world so unexpectedly changed, Javert found that his fury at Valjean had drained away. By the time Cosette finally went to sleep, he didn't have the energy for the lengthy rant he'd been reciting in his head with the intention of delivering it to Valjean as soon as they were alone. He didn't have much energy for talking at all, so once Cosette was finally asleep, after their repeated reassurances that they would both be there in the morning, Javert went to unload the dishwasher that Toussaint had run earlier.

Valjean found him in the kitchen and crept up behind him, sliding his arms around Javert's waist. "I'm sorry," he said for the fifteenth time since they'd been home. "I didn't mean to make you think I was abandoning you. You have to believe me. I thought I was protecting you and Cosette. Every stupid thing I did was because I love you, and I will swear on anything you like that I'll never do it again."

Javert repressed a shudder. He understood now why people claimed that their lovers made them go weak in the knees; he thought his own would give out. He wanted nothing more than to let Valjean take his weight and hold him, preferably for hours.

Of course, merely recognizing that desire made him tense instead. "Are you going to keep giving me the silent treatment?" Valjean asked softly, mouth so close to Javert's ear that it tickled.

"I'm not giving you the silent treatment." Javert huffed out a breath. "Or if I am, it's only so I won't say 'I told you so' a hundred times."

He felt Valjean's shake of laughter, and the voice that replied was relieved. "Is that all? I deserve so much worse. You can say 'I told you so' as many times as you want."

"No one likes to be told 'I told you so,'" snorted Javert.

"You did tell me so. I was afraid you were going to tell me I might as well go back to the retreat because no way were you letting me stay with you."

"You seem determined that we not stay together. Are you disappointed that I didn't take your offer to protect my honor and leave?"

"Oh God." Valjean's arms had tightened around his waist, and Javert felt his breathing stutter. "Please tell me you're joking."

Javert left him suspended in agony for a few moments -- it _was_ what Valjean deserved -- before he finally replied, "I'm joking. You can't go back to the retreat. There's no way I'm telling..." He had to hesitate to take a breath. "...telling my daughter that she has to leave her home again, not after we just got her settled." Turning, he gave Valjean what he hoped was a defiant look.

Valjean grinned a bit, looking at his own feet. "I didn't mean with Cosette. I thought you were going to tell just me to get out."

"And have her wake up calling for her father?"

" _You're_ her father." It was Valjean's turn to blow out a breath. "She made that very clear today -- she went running to you."

Javert was shaking his head. "Only because you were shaking up her world. And forcing her to face things, on top of --" He gestured in the direction of the car and by extension the studio. "The whole production going topsy turvy."

"I don't think she really cares about the production. If we told her we were both going to work in a tiny theater in Manitoba, I doubt it would bother her very much, as long as we were all going there together." Valjean rubbed a hand over his face again. "She thought what you thought, that I was trying to take her away from you. I was a complete idiot."

Nodding, Javert crossed his arms across his chest. "I told you so." But he couldn't keep his lips from twitching, and Valjean broke into a grin. "You're right -- that felt good."

"I didn't think you'd ever admit I was right about anything." Valjean kept grinning. "Did you really talk to Simplice about our love life? I thought you didn't want me to go around telling people you have a ten inch cock."

Though he could not keep a small smirk from twisting his mouth, Javert tried to look stern. "I don't have a ten inch cock. Nine and a quarter, maybe."

With a bark of laughter, Valjean slid his arms low around Javert's hips so that he could shuffle him toward the bedroom. "And you're much too honorable ever to tell a lie." Javert let himself be propelled down the hall and through the doorway, even though either Cosette or Toussaint could have appeared and seen them pushing their hips together. "So can I do this?" inquired Valjean, pressing Javert back toward the bed.

Javert tried to look as if this were a great imposition instead of the only thing he wanted in the world right at that moment. "I suppose," he said, considering. "If you promise not to be an idiot about the fact that I'm not mad at you. Not more mad, I mean."

"I'll try not to be an idiot." Settling with him on the bed, Valjean slid an arm around Javert's waist, snuggling beneath his chin. "Am I allowed to ask why you aren't more mad?"

Javert had been asking himself that very question. He was inclined to believe that it was mostly relief. "I'm just glad it's all out in the open. Your past, our present. It's about time our daughter knew about -- well -- everything appropriate for someone her age to know."

"Our daughter knew things someone her age probably shouldn't have known before we told her," snorted Valjean, rubbing his nose against Javert's chest. "I love that you're calling her our daughter."

"After the way I've behaved since the news broke, no one in their right mind would ever try to take her away from me." He felt scarily confident about this, that he had frightened not just Valjean but Marius, Fantine, Gorbeau, the nun, and everyone else with whom he'd been in contact.

Valjean was peering up at him with an echo of that fear. "You really never thought it might be better for everyone if you took her and ran? Got her away from me? The court would probably take your side."

"Do you honestly think she'd want that? Or that I would?" He'd meant to pretend to smack Valjean upside the head, but only succeeded in ruffling Valjean's hair. "Idiot," he muttered to make up for it.

"She wouldn't want that. She doesn't want to have to choose between us, though I'm not positive any more that she'd choose me." Valjean squeezed his waist again. "But I've never been completely sure about you, till today."

It didn't sound as if Valjean was joking, so Javert shifted to look at him, though this required dislodging the arm comfortably around Javert's waist. "What part of not sure about me? That I'd stay with you or that I'd stay with the both of you?" When Valjean shrugged and refused to meet his eyes, Javert slid two fingers under his chin. "Are you sure now?"

Valjean glanced up before he lowered his mouth to kiss Javert's palm. "If you're here now...yes. I mean, I can't believe anything worse is going to come up. I don't have any more ruinous secrets from my past. You don't have any that I should know, do you?"

Javert couldn't help letting out a relieved chuckle, wriggling against Valjean as what Valjean's tongue was doing to his hand communicated itself to his groin. "I think everyone thinks mine's a publicist's invention for TV -- prison guard with absent parents. It sounds like a sob story some agent made up."

"Not any more," Valjean grinned, licking his hand. He knew full well what he was doing to Javert's dick. "They know we knew each other in prison. They'll probably say I turned you gay in prison."

"If you hadn't hated my guts for being a guard," retorted Javert, sliding his fingers through Valjean's hair again before he'd quite realized what he was doing. "If you'd even been looking."

"You were one of the decent guards, I didn't hate your guts, and I couldn't help looking," replied Valjean earnestly. Javert felt his cheeks flush. Back when he'd worked in the prison, he'd still been trying to convince himself that even if he couldn't stop being gay -- men could never really change that way -- then maybe he could be celibate and avoid entanglements. Valjean had made that impossible even to imagine. Javert tried to wriggle against him again, to encourage him to go back to what his mouth had been doing, and Valjean obliged him. "I'll never stop looking now. We should celebrate. In the usual way!"

Valjean's tongue moved across Javert's skin in a way that left no doubt what he meant, making Javert smile once more. "Romantic dinner and wine?" he asked, fluttering a hand behind Valjean's back.

"Oh -- are you hungry?" sputtered Valjean, looking sincerely disconcerted. "I know you didn't get much dinner. I thought, since Cosette's already asleep..."

Javert could not help smirking. "No, I'm not hungry. Unless you count an appetite for the things you do to me in bed."

A growl emerged from Valjean's throat. "Oh, you're getting all those things!" When Valjean made noises like that, Javert was never even sure he'd get his clothes off before he exploded, but Valjean had already reached out to start undoing his shirt buttons. "Let me. I screwed up enough today, I'm going to do this right."

"How do you plan to do that?" Javert tried to keep the same casual tone he'd used when he suggested dinner and wine, but he was enjoying being undressed and let it show as Valjean's fingers slid through his chest hair, pushing his shirt open.

"Depends on your mood. I know sometimes you like me submissive and babbling how much I want you..."

Javert couldn't hold back a moan as Valjean's fingers slid beneath his waistband. "Sometimes I like you growly and toppy," he pointed out.

With a loud growl, Valjean began to pull his pants off. "Exactly. Sometimes the best thing to do is to make you come so hard you forget to be grouchy."

Breathing faster, Javert added, "Or to make me come so hard I forget my own name."

"That's all right, I'm sure I'll be yelling it. You just better not forget mine." Valjean rose on his knees to take off his own shirt, taking his time, showing off. "The way I never forgot yours."

"I haven't forgotten anything about you." Seeing Valjean getting ready to fuck him, after getting him so worked up, had the strange effect of loosening Javert's tongue. "That goofy smile of yours, or the way you can never shut up after we have sex, or the way your voice catches just a little when you tell me you love me..."

Half-naked, Valjean paused, thumbs caught in the waistband of his own pants as he pushed them down. "Fuck, JV, who knew you were such a fucking romantic?"

"Such language, when you're supposed to be the romantic one." Javert tried not to look too pleased with himself. "I've been saving up."

"As long as you're not acting." The rest of Valjean's clothes went flying across the room. "You're good enough that you could be. Good thing I know you better than that."

"You know me better than anyone." As Valjean crawled naked up the bed, Javert wrapped his legs around him. Had he changed, or was this how it was meant to be all along? "You knew I wanted you before I was admitting it even to myself. And with Cosette. I didn't know I was lonely until --" Fuck, what was wrong with his tongue? Javert stopped talking, knowing that he had already said too much.

Even when fumbling with lube, Valjean could manage to look sappy. "I'm honored that you've let me know you. I'm honored that for some reason you decided you could trust me. I'm going to beat myself up forever for how stupid I was today, but I have other things to do now..."

A slick finger rubbed behind Javert's balls, making Javert's eyes roll back in his head. "Don't beat yourself up, just keep doing that!" Finally, Valjean was licking the head of his cock, making further conversation unnecessary as his fingers teased Javert's asshole, sliding in and out, stretching him. Javert could feel himself melting against the mattress.

But of course Valjean wasn't done talking. "When I say forever, I mean forever," he informed Javert between licks.

"Fine. I'm not going anywhere forever, so can we argue about it later?"

Valjean's hand replaced his mouth on Javert's cock. When Javert looked down, he was surprised to see him blushing. "You made it official with Cosette," Valjean said, already sounding breathless and needy, though Javert hadn't touched him. "Would you make it official with me?"

Was the lack of oxygen to his brain making Javert hallucinate, or was Valjean asking him to -- ? Javert's heart hammered in his chest. Maybe he'd misunderstood -- Valjean did, after all, have a religious background that might make him ridicule what Javert thought he meant, even if there were lots of places where it was legal now. Hands shaking, Javert cleared his throat. "I just said I'd stay forever. If that isn't a good enough answer, you'd better tell me exactly what the question is."

Nodding, Valjean bit down on his own lip, which was trembling too. He took a breath. "I should've known you'd want it formal. JV, please make me the happiest man in the world. Will you marry me?"

Even if he'd wanted to take time to think about what it would mean, Javert was already nodding with him, so breathless and lightheaded that he couldn't muster the strength to fight what he wanted with everything in him. "Yes. Told you I want forever."

A moment later what air remained in his lungs was knocked out as Valjean dove over him, kissing him. "I want that more than I've ever wanted anything. I never dreamed I'd have a chance, even all these months..." Oh fuck, Valjean was about to start blubbering again. "You aren't just saying yes so we can get on with the fucking and argue about it later, are you?"

"You really are an idiot. I'm saying yes because I want to marry you!"

"God, I've tried to imagine you saying that, but I never could." Valjean sniffled, though he was grinning like a fool. "I am an idiot. But I'm your idiot." He slid down in the bed, giving Javert's cock another passionate kiss, fingers trembling as they returned to their previous task.

Javert could only shake his head. "You're a complete idiot. You should have known I'd say yes." His fingers slid through Valjean's hair once more, making furrows in it. "Now you're going to have to do more than imagine it."

"I'll do it any way you want -- church, City Hall, anything, as long as we do it." Valjean shifted up again as he spoke, gazing at Javert, sliding slick fingers over his own cock. "And have a honeymoon somewhere romantic."

He finally had to stop speaking to concentrate, lining himself up, making sure Javert was ready before pressing inside. Javert bracketed his legs around him. "Somewhere we can do this on a private beach," panted Javert. He'd been thinking about it since their hiatus vacation.

Valjean slid in and out, groaning. "Somewhere with no photographers. Oh God, you say the sexiest things!" Javert squeezed around him. He would never be able to talk during sex as much as Valjean. "You inspire me and I want to make you come everywhere!"

Arched against him, cock pressed against his belly, Javert gasped, "This is pretty inspiring right now."

A moment later Valjean's fingers closed around him. "You do feel inspired! Inspired....hot...oh fuck!" Javert could only groan as Valjean thrust, hand moving on him. "If you could see how hot you look when you're inspired!"

"Not as hot as -- fuck -- just fuck me!" begged Javert, and for once Valjean obeyed him, changing the angle and tempo until Javert was howling nonsense, clutching at Valjean, convulsing against him, spurting all over his hand. Valjean moaned loudly, thrusting as Javert emptied his balls.

"I love it so much when you -- " A growl that turned into a grunt, then Valjean was coming inside him, making noise that weren't quite words. When next he could speak, Valjean gasped, "Love you, love you so much!"

"Yeah, me too." Valjean collapsed over Javert, sweat dripping onto him, and Javert felt himself grinning. Christ, but it was good not to have secrets and lies between themselves or anyone else, even if the world outside was falling apart as usual. "I have for a long time."

Valjean was still breathless, face against Javert's shoulder. "Careful," he panted. "From you, that's practically babbling."

"I've put up with it enough from you. I'm entitled." Javert let his fingers trail down Valjean's back. He felt possessive and greedy, like he deserved, for a change, to have everything he wanted. "And you had better never try to leave again."

"JV, I just asked you to marry me. Does that sound like I'm thinking about leaving?"

"Could've been the sex talking."

Valjean managed to raise his head. "You know how much I love you. Don't I babble it even when you don't want to hear it?"

"You always babble." Javert lifted his head so that he could kiss Valjean. "But I always want to hear that."

"Yeah, I know." Grinning against his lips, Valjean slid out of him. "Going to remind you of that the next time you complain that I talk too much." With a soft grunt, he dropped himself onto the mattress at Javert's side. "But I'm still going to keep saying it."

Pressing his lips together, Javert realized that he had probably made a tactical mistake, but he couldn't bring himself to complain. "Fine, but I reserve the right to complain about anything else. Especially in the morning."

"You usually do," Valjean chuckled, groping over the side of the bed for tissues. "I don't know why it took you so long to tell me you told me so." He wiped off Javert's belly and his own while speaking. "You know I was already beating myself up about it. I think I was pretending that if I never let Cosette find out, it would make it less my history. Except if it hadn't been my history, I wouldn't have met you."

"So as bad as it was, you wouldn't change it?" Javert thought about what Valjean had always imagined it would mean to have everything out in the open. "Cosette doesn't care. She said so."

Despite the tissues, Valjean's fingers were still sticky as he slid an arm around Javert's middle. "They could still write me off the show. Both of us, for that matter. I doubt right now they want to kill the goose that gives them golden ratings, but that might change in a few months." He gave a rueful chuckle. "Think Fantine will fight for our jobs the way we fought for hers?"

Fantine might still be a diva with a temper, but Javert thought that she would keep fighting for Valjean, if it came to that. "She probably would. If not, we'll find something else." He recalled his earlier misery when he had seen two roads before him, one with Valjean and one without -- he who had never in his life believed in anything but one straight path -- and he knew that he would always choose the path with Valjean, no matter what it meant giving up. "I've got some put by. We won't starve and we won't have to steal. We can always move into a smaller place."

"There are probably more valuable things I could be doing for the world than acting, anyway. Teaching, if anyone would hire me. Or helping ex-cons find jobs and places to live. Someone's going to have to take up where Lamarque left off."

"Maybe you can get the church to expand that retreat. Did you happen to mention your sexual orientation while you were there? They're sure to find out now. I hope the church people won't make trouble for Cosette over that."

"I made sure it was the kind of place that wouldn't before I ever enrolled her. They're Vincentian -- they're all about social justice. They might even help us get jobs if we get axed." With a rather unmanly giggle, Valjean squeezed his arm. "Or we could get jobs as waiters, or, I don't know, strippers."

"No husband of mine is stripping in front of a bunch of drunk men on the down-low," growled Javert. "No lonely single men are going to ogle your ass but me." He gave that ass a pinch to make his point.

Nodding, Valjean giggled again. "My ass is taken. You can keep taking it any time you want..." The suggestive wriggle was undercut by a yawn.

Javert felt like purring in satisfaction as Valjean burrowed against him. He stroked his side, loving the feel of him. "I'll hold you to that. Apparently I have a voracious sexual appetite."

"You can hold me any time you want, too. Even in public, now that everyone knows." With another yawn and stretch, Valjean tugged up the covers. "I'm going to keep you. Cosette won't let you leave either. You're ours now."

In the midst of the deepest contentment he had ever known, a frightening thought occurred to Javert. "You know that when we tell her, she'll want to help plan the wedding."

He felt as much as heard Valjean's groan of bemusement. "We'll have to wear purple ties or something. Probably with aliens on them."

"And serve pizza and rainbow ice cream." When Javert tried to picture this, he saw it as a snapshot through a window, with himself smiling in the way he hadn't known he could smile until he'd seen all those photos of himself and Valjean. Even now it made him break into a grin.

Valjean was gazing at him adoringly. "It'll be perfect, then. And we'll all belong to each other. I mean, I'm sure Cosette will meet someone else someday and break our hearts, but we'll still have each other."

"Forever," agreed Javert, fighting off a yawn of his own.

"Like two wings of the same spirit. Like finding the secret of life." Javert knew that he was forever fated to fall asleep listening to Valjean babbling. Fortunately, that suited him fine. He let his eyes close while Valjean's voice went on, "Like seeing the face of God. There's nothing better in the world than being in love."


End file.
